#so excited to learn more about avid it’s like there was a door in my heart that I didn’t know was locked and avid was the key

[allthelovehes]

Field Day Reunion

Summary: Harry agrees to volunteer at his son's school and he is surprised to see the teacher is his long-lost high school girlfriend.

Pairing: Singledad!Harry x Teacher!Y/N

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: None, this is pure fluff.

Taglist: @justmystyles @bitchybabyharry @harrysslut7 @swiftmendeshoran @lucasandharold @harrysbabycherry @htaylor18 @rose-garden-dreamz @myalovesharry @mellamolayla @hsonlyangelxo @yousunshineyoutempter @heartateasee @blueheisenbergtragedy @bikestyles @bohemianrhapsody86 Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! 🤗

Support my work by joining my Patreon!

A/N:  Just a fluffy little one shot about Harry reuniting with his high school lover. Let me know if you want a part two because I can totally see that happening!

As Charlie comes home from school with a piece of paper in hand, asking for volunteers to visit a local farm, Harry is eager to sign up. His 4-year-old is currently learning all about farm animals, so it seems like the perfect opportunity to see his enthusiasm first-hand.

Harry is a single parent to Charlie, and while parenthood is far from easy, he's found himself becoming an avid learner in the art of parenting as his son is growing up. The last year especially, since his girlfriend had left them both in the dust and moved away.

But while Harry's been focused on his son and their life at home, Charlie's growing up and becoming his own little person. He's also learning more about the world and how people fit into it, and Harry thinks that volunteering at his school is a perfect example of that.

And so, Harry fills out the permission slip and sends it back to Charlie's teacher.

Charlie is very excited when Harry tells him about the trip, and even though he's still very young, Harry can tell he's already forming his own ideas about the kind of person he wants to be. And that means the world to Harry. It's one thing for him to shape his son, but he's determined to give Charlie a voice, as well.

Later that week, Charlie is sent home from school with another letter. One that explains how the class will be visiting the farm, what the schedule will be like and what exactly they need help with from the volunteering parents. With this insight, Harry has a much better understanding of the day, and can teach Charlie about things he might see. Teaching him new words and showing him the pictures in the books that Harry has at home.

On the morning of the trip, Charlie is a bundle of excited nerves. He's practically vibrating as Harry helps him get dressed, and when Harry makes sure he's got his raincoat, he almost bursts.

“It's not going to rain, daddy.”

“Oh yeah? Then what's that.” Harry asks, pointing out the window where the clouds are hanging low and grey.

“It's not gonna rain” Charlie states again. “Promise” Harry huffs out a laugh because of course, the boy is going to be stubborn today

“Okay, little man. We'll see.” As they get ready to leave, Harry puts a light jacket on and grabs an umbrella. When Charlie notices, he pouts, making his father chuckle.

Harry is supposed to drive to school first so a few more kids can fit in the car, and then drive them all to the farm together. Charlie is excited to sit in the front, which gives him a perfect view of the sky and a chance to show Harry how wrong he is.

He's quiet for a while, just staring out the window, but Harry doesn't pay too much attention. He's too focused on the road and making sure the other kids are safe. But soon, the clouds part and the sun shines through.

“See? Told ya.” Charlie grins. Harry hums and nods.

“I suppose you did.”

Harry parks his car on the school grounds. They walk towards Charlie's classroom and when the door opens, Harry sees a young woman standing in the middle of the room, facing away from him. If he remembers correctly, his son's teacher used to be in her fifties, so who is this woman?

“Char? Did you get a new teacher” Harry asks his son as he puts his coat away, but Charlie shrugs.

“No. Miss Green is gone. This is Miss Y/L/N.” Charlie answers, pointing to the woman. At the sound of his son's voice, she turns around and Harry can finally see her face. She locks eyes with him and it feels like time stops.

“Y/N” Harry asks confused, his heart beating faster. She looks exactly the same as she did all those years ago, the only difference being the hair length and a few laugh lines on her face.

“Harry. Hi. Um... I wasn't expecting to see you here.” She says. Her voice sounds a little strained.

“Well, I wasn't expecting to see you either.” Harry chuckles. “How... are you? I didn't know you were a teacher.”

“Oh, I just started this year. And I'm doing great. How are you?” She smiles. It's a little awkward, but it's real.

“Good, good.” He smiles back, scratching the back of his neck. Y/N used to be his girlfriend in high school, until they broke up because of college. They've only seen each other a couple of times since then, mostly when their paths crossed in their hometown. He always knew he loved her, but as they grew older, the distance between them had grown too, and now they're basically strangers.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Charlie tugs on his jacket, looking up at him. Harry blinks and shakes his head a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm good, little man.” Harry says and runs a hand through his son's curls.

“Daddy?” Y/N asks, sounding amused. Harry can feel the blush spreading on his cheeks.

“Uh, yeah. Charlie is my son.” He tells her, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

“He's a lucky kid to have you, Harry.” Y/N smiles, and for a second, he's a teenage boy again, completely infatuated with her.

“Thank you.” Harry clears his throat.

“Are you ready to go to the farm, Charlie?” She asks, kneeling in front of the boy.

“Yep! Can we see the horses?” He asks excitedly, jumping a little. Y/N giggles.

“There aren't going to be any horses on the farm we're going to today, but I'm sure we can find a different animal. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Harry is a bit distracted for the rest of the day, and Y/N's eyes keep meeting his over the children's heads, making him blush and smile. He can't believe she's back in his life, and a teacher no less. He really hopes he'll see her more often, now that his boy is in her class.

“Okay kids, gather 'round!” Y/N calls as she stands in front of the pigpen. Charlie and his friends hurry over, giggling and talking excitedly. “Can you all say 'hello' to the pigs?” The children repeat her words, and she gives them all a warm smile. “Great job! Now, if you all take a step closer, you'll be able to pet the pigs. Remember to be gentle, okay?”

Harry can't believe his ears. Y/N was never a fan of animals, especially when they were close to her. Yet here she is, standing in the middle of the mud, smiling and laughing. It warms his heart to see her so fond of the kids.

As the kids pet the pigs, Harry steps next to Y/N, who smiles and waves.

“This is incredible, Y/N. I can't believe you're doing this.” Harry laughs.

“Yeah, it was a little weird at first, but the kids seem to love it. It's nice to see them all together and have fun.” She admits. “And it's also a great learning experience.”

“It really is. I don't think Charlie will be able to talk about anything else but pigs for the next few days.”

“It's great though, isn't it? Their little minds are constantly absorbing information and figuring out how the world works.”

“Yeah.” Harry smiles and nods, looking at his son, who's happily petting the pig with a huge smile on his face.

“Okay guys, I think it's time for lunch. Can we all thank the pigs?” She calls and the kids cheer.

“Thank you, pig.”

“Thank you, piggy!”

“Thanks, pig.”

They all wave at the pig and walk towards the picnic area, where a couple of parents are setting up the food. Y/N instructs the kids to wash their hands, and they all run to the bathrooms. Harry joins her, and they fall into a comfortable silence as they wait for the children.

“I'm really happy to see you again, Harry.” She admits, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

“Me too, Y/N. It's been a long time.” He nods.

“Yeah.” She says, but doesn't elaborate. There's so much Harry wants to say to her, but the kids are coming back and he knows it's not the right time. He'll just have to find another opportunity.

Lunch is a fun affair, filled with laughter and the occasional mess. Afterwards, the kids play in the meadow for a while before heading back to the farm building.

“Okay, let's all sit down on the floor and I'll tell you a story about the farm.” Y/N instructs, and the kids all follow her. Harry sits with the parents, keeping an eye on his son and watching the woman he used to love.

Y/N talks to the kids about how the farm started, who built it, and what happened over the years. She has a way with words, and the children are hanging on to every word she says. After the story, they head over to the goat pen and watch as the baby goats jump around, chasing each other and bleating.

“Daddy, can we get a goat?” Charlie asks.

“Maybe, buddy. But I don't think we'd have a place to keep one.” Harry replies.

“Aww, but it's so cute.” Charlie whines, and Y/N can't help but chuckle as she picks up on their conversation.

“It is very cute. But maybe you can come here and see the goats, instead.” She suggests. Charlie nods and smiles, he walks back to the adorable creatures.

“Thanks, you just saved me there.” Harry laughs.

“Don't mention it. I'm glad I could help.”

“So, um... Charlie's mom. How's she doing?” Y/N asks, and he can see the hesitation on her face.

“Oh. She's fine, I think. We haven't seen each other since she left.” Harry answers.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I was just curious.” She says, wringing her hands together.

“No, no, it's okay. I just didn't expect it.”

“Oh. Well, that's good.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. They look at each other for a moment before someone calls for Y/N, and they're pulled out of the moment.

The rest of the day passes quickly. There are many games and activities for the kids to try out, and lots of running around and laughing. Charlie is completely worn out when it's time to go, and he falls asleep in the car.

When Harry pulls up to the school, he lets the other kids out of his car so they can go home but makes sure to let Charlie have his nap. 

“Thanks, Harry.” Y/N says as she walks up to him.

“For what?” He asks.

“For being such a great dad and helping me out. I had a lot of fun today.” She explains, smiling at him.

“Anytime, Y/N.” He replies, giving her a small smile back. They look at each other for a while, both hesitant.

“Well, I better get going. See you around!” She asks.

“Definitely. See you.”

With that, Y/N walks away and Harry gets into his car. As Harry watches her go, he can't help but wonder what the future will bring and he realises he's not wanting to wait for it all to happen. He quickly opens the door and calls her name, stopping her in her tracks.

“Yes?” She asks, confused.

“Can I please have your phone number? I'd love to catch up.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She says, pulling her phone out and giving him the number.

“Great. Thanks.”

“Sure thing. Have a nice evening, Harry.”

“You too, Y/N.”

He watches as she walks away, feeling a sense of calm wash over him. It's like he's found something he didn't even know was missing, and he can't wait to explore the possibilities with her. ***

Ever since the field trip when Harry would drop Charlie off at school, he can't stop thinking about Y/N. She's always been on his mind, but this time, it's different. Now that they've reconnected, Harry can't help but notice everything about her. The way she smiles, the way she laughs, and the way her eyes sparkle.

He hasn't dated since Charlie's mother left. He was too busy raising his son and working, and it wasn't really a priority. But now, as he watches Y/N interact with his boy, he can't help but want more. He wants her, and he's not sure what to do about it.

One afternoon, as Harry is waiting in the parking lot after picking up Charlie, Y/N approaches his car. She gives him a small wave and a smile, and he quickly gets out of the car.

“Hi.” She greets him, a slight blush on her cheeks.

“Hey. What's up?” He asks, leaning against the car.

“Um, I was wondering if you'd like to grab a coffee with me? You asked for my number but never called, so I thought I'd ask you in person.” She asks, her voice laced with nervousness.

“Oh, yeah. I'm sorry, I've been... I got kinda nervous.” He admits.

“Really?” She asks, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yeah.” He says. He doesn't explain himself further, and they just stand there, looking at each other for a minute. “Let's change the coffee for dinner and you've got yourself a deal.” He smirks, making her laugh.

“Deal.”

They agree on a time and place and then Y/N leaves, her smile growing wider with each step she takes. Harry watches her, his heart beating faster with every passing second. As he's driving home, Harry can't stop smiling. He's finally going on a date with the woman of his dreams.

He decides to make an effort and dresses up a little, putting on a nice pair of jeans and a shirt. It's not much, but it's more than he usually wears. He even brushes his hair. When he's done, he goes into the living room and finds Charlie sitting on the couch, watching TV.

“Hey, little man. Are you hungry?” Harry asks. Charlie shakes his head. “Are you sure? I'm going out for dinner and I can pick something up for you on the way home.”

“Can I come?” Charlie asks, looking up at his father with big, puppy eyes.

“Oh, um... Maybe next time, buddy. Grandma is coming over to watch you. This is kind of an adult thing.”

“What is it?”

“I'm having dinner with a friend.” Harry explains. Charlie frowns, and his brows furrows in concentration.

“Do I know her?” He asks, his voice curious.

“Yes, you do. But you can meet her another time, okay?”

“Okay.” Charlie says, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Daddy?”

“Yes, little man?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Harry almost chokes on the air, his eyes going wide.

“What?” He manages to squeak out.

“I heard the other kids talk about it at school. They said you're supposed to have dinner with your girlfriend.” Charlie explains.

“Oh. Well, no, buddy. I don't have a girlfriend.” Harry says. “Not yet.” He adds, thinking about Y/N.

“Oh. Okay.”

Charlie's questions stop and they sit in silence until his grandmother comes. Once Anne arrives, Harry leaves the house, and heads towards the restaurant. The place is busy, but not packed, and Harry manages to find a table easily. He orders a drink and sits down, his leg bouncing nervously. He's not sure why he's so anxious, it's just dinner with an old friend. He has no reason to be worried.

Y/N shows up a few minutes later, and when their eyes meet, she smiles. She looks beautiful, her hair loose and a soft dress hugging her curves. Harry feels his heart rate speed up.

“Hi.” She greets him as she approaches the table.

“Hey.” He smiles, getting up to hug her. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. You look good too.” She blushes.

“Thank you.”

They order food and talk about anything and everything. They talk about the past and how they've changed over the years. They talk about the present and their jobs, their likes and dislikes. They also talk about the future and their hopes and dreams. It's a nice, easy conversation, and Harry is glad she had the guts to ask him on a date.

After they finish eating, they go for a walk, taking in the fresh air and talking about the most random things. Y/N talks about the kids and the crazy stories she's heard and Harry laughs at her tales, especially when she imitates their voices. He can't believe how easily they fall back into a rhythm, and he finds himself hoping this will continue.

After their walk, they go back to his car, and Harry drives her home as she took the bus on the way here. He parks outside her apartment building and they sit in the car, neither of them knowing what to say.

“Well, I had a really nice time tonight, Harry.” Y/N breaks the silence.

“Me too.” He says, a soft smile on his lips. “I'm glad you asked me out.”

“So am I.” She says.

They sit there for a few moments, just looking at each other before Harry finally pulls her cheek to the side so their eyes meet. They lean in slowly, their lips almost touching.

“Thank you again for a wonderful evening, Harry.” Y/N whispers.

“It was my pleasure.” He replies, his voice low and husky.

Their lips meet, and a fire ignites within him. They kiss deeply and passionately, his hands exploring her body. She moans into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair. Harry knows he shouldn't do this, not on the first date, but he can't help himself. He needs her. They kiss until their lungs scream for air, and they have to break apart. They stare at each other, both panting.

“Wow.” Y/N whispers, licking her lips.

“Yeah.” He replies, his heart racing. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-.“

“No, it's okay. I wanted this too.” She interrupts, a soft smile on her face. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How do you feel about dating with Charlie around? I can imagine it's not easy, especially since he's only four.”

“Well, I've never dated anyone, so I'm not sure.” Harry shrugs. “But I can't stop thinking about you.” He adds, looking into her eyes.

“Really?” She asks, surprised.

“Yes. I've been thinking about you ever since I saw you again.”

“Me too.”

They lean in again, their lips meeting once more. They kiss until their bodies ache and their lungs burn, and then they part. Harry can't believe he's doing this, but he knows it's right.

“Let's just take things slow.” He says, his voice husky.

“Okay.” Y/N smiles.

They kiss one last time before saying their goodbyes. As Harry watches her go, he can't help but smile. He's not sure where this will lead, but he can't wait to find out.

[aldbooks]

A Strange Melody - Chapter 7

@sunshinebingo

Read on AO3

Gwyn woke the next morning singing to herself as she all but floated about the room while the bemused servants attempted to once again bathe and dress her. She opted for a dusky pink dress this time with skirts that billowed around her when she moved and sleeves that draped off her shoulders, held onto her body with what the twins called a ‘corset’. It was surprisingly comfortable given its rigid structure, though it did force her to stand taller and straighter, which she supposed was not a bad thing. 

Half of her hair had been pulled back, away from her face and tied with a piece of matching pink silk that made her feel very pretty and feminine. Like the pictures of princesses she had always seen in books.

Smiling as she opened the door, Azriel was once again waiting for her, taking a moment to look her over before pushing off the wall he’d been leaning against to approach her. “You needn’t have waited for me,” she said as she took his arm, despite how terribly giddy she felt that he had. “I know my way to and from the dining room well enough.”

He shrugged. “Your room is next to mine and I did not wait long. It was no trouble.”

“Are you going flying again today?” she asked as they made their way down the stairs. 

Azriel smiled slightly. “You enjoyed that did you? I told you it was exciting.”

“It was,” she admitted, grinning. “I’d love to see the mainland…”

The look Azriel gave her was apologetic. “Perhaps I can take you another day. Unfortunately business will take away for most of today.”

“You’re leaving?” she asked, her heart sinking. She had less than 24 hours left, assuming the magic would last as long as Rhysand had guessed. Possibly less. She felt they had made some progress yesterday, but how much of that progress might be lost before she was forced to leave? 

Had the Bargainer known he would be gone for most of her stay here? She couldn’t help but feel tricked.

“Just for a few hours,” he said. “A- matter has arisen that warrants my personal investigation and time is of the essence, I’m afraid.”

Gwyn’s shoulders slumped, her lips turning down in a pout. Azriel’s warm, rough hand covered hers, drawing her attention. “If you really wish to go flying, I’m sure Cassian would be happy to take you. Or, like Rhys said, we’re stabling some of Helion’s pegasus who will need the exercise. You don’t need to wait for me if you wish to explore.”

Gwyn nodded absently. She did wish to fly again, but that hadn’t been her reason for asking. She’d hoped to spend more one on one time with him. However, if he were planning to be absent for so long, then it was perhaps prudent to revisit the idea of securing an invitation through befriending the queen and her sister. 

She would join them for whatever their plans may be for the day, she decided as they approached the dining room. 

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” she asked, turning to look at Azriel. Spy work could be dangerous, she knew. She had no notion of what had occurred to warrant the Spymaster’s personal attention, but if it was urgent, surely it was dangerous. The thought was unsettling.

Smiling, he squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Always.”

As it turned out, Gwyn had learned the queen was a talented artist and avid painter and had spent a good part of her day in Feyre’s studio, watching her work. It had been fascinating to watch her bring scenes to life with the stroke of her brush on canvas. The way she mixed color to show light and shadow. Most of the artwork under the surface consisted of sculptures as it was one of the only mediums that could survive the waters, and even then some materials had to be enchanted with magic to prevent erosion.

She had seen a few paintings that had perished in shipwrecks. Occasionally those that were salvageable would be preserved and hung in the nymphs’ homes or offered to the sea god as a gift. But to see such beautiful art, undamaged, was a treat.

Nesta had rolled her eyes at Gwyn’s enthusiasm and had retreated to the library, which was where she had found her once she’d felt she’d stayed long enough in the queen’s studio to wear out her welcome, and there they remained for most of the afternoon discussing the book that Gwyn had finally finished reading the night before.

Azriel, to her knowledge, had still not returned by the time she returned to her rooms to change, and as she glanced out the window at the storm that was brewing, she began to worry. 

Attempting to shake off her moody thoughts, Gwyn busied herself selecting a gown she thought Azriel might like and ended up choosing a deep navy one that matched well with the scarf he had bought her, which the twins tied around her waist, knotting it at the back into a bow. The effect was quite beautiful, giving her waist an exaggerated curve and offsetting the dark dress with a splash of color.

Azriel was not waiting for her when she finished dressing, to her disappointment, so she made her way down on her own. As she passed through a hallway lined with windows, she could see the dark waters of the sea churning below and could hear the wind picking up as lightning arched across the sky. Before she could truly begin to worry about Azriel possibly flying in such conditions, she heard Cassian’s booming laugh and hurried towards the parlor where they had all gathered for dinner the night before. To her relief, Azriel was there, standing amongst his friends. 

Breathing a sigh, she watched a shadow brush against his ear, causing him to turn in her direction. The shadow that had been following her around all day (much to her amusement) darted back over to its master, hiding behind his wings when he narrowed his eyes as though it were a naughty child. She suppressed a grin as she approached him.

Azriel’s eyes swept over her with an appreciation that made her shiver. His gaze caught on the scarf and she twirled when she stopped a few feet from him. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said with a soft smile.

Beaming, she took a step closer, about to ask how his day had been when a throaty, feminine voice floated in from the doorway. “Did you miss me?”

Spinning, Gwyn found herself looking at quite possibly the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Tall and lithe with delicate curves encased in a red dress, she looked like the personification of sunlight with her golden hair and skin. The others grinned as she sauntered in, arms outstretched to meet Feyre with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Beside her, she felt Azriel go very still. Glancing over at him, she was dismayed to see him staring intently at the blond as the others greeted her and Gwyn realized who she was. 

Morrigan had returned. And Azriel was utterly besotted.

Gwyn looked like a dream in the dark blue dress, the green and gold scarf he’d bought her at the market tied around her waist like a sash. Her bright smile and the way she’d twirled for him to show it off was so innocently adorable, it solidified his decision to pursue her. 

After learning nothing new during his investigations that day, Azriel had spent the flight back home and the hour in his study afterward, contemplating whether it really mattered. Rhys had already decided she was trustworthy, and his own instincts told him she was not a threat. Quite the opposite in fact.

Did it really matter if he did not have all of the information about her beforehand? Was that not half the joy of courting- getting to know someone? He would find a way to get the answers he sought from her eventually. For now, he just needed to figure out what to do about this aching need to be near her. The rest he could figure out later.

He’d only just made this conclusion when the previous object of his infatuation for the last five centuries walked through the door, catching him off guard. He’d been so busy thinking about Gwyn all day, he’d forgotten that Morrigan was to return that evening. Which was uncharacteristic of him enough in itself.

Azriel stilled as she approached, struck as he always was by her beauty. Yet, it did not seem to affect him quite as strongly as it usually did. There were the usual feelings of lust, longing, jealousy, but they did not feel as potent. There was no allconsuming need to possess, just a general acknowledgement of attraction. Curious. 

He could not help but think it was due to the woman standing beside him whom Mor had finally noticed wearing one of her own gowns and greeted warmly, complimenting her on the way it flattered her and insisting she keep it.

But what did it mean? Why did he suddenly feel so free from the choking yearning that had had its claws in him for so many centuries? Surely it wasn’t just because she’d been gone for so long. Mor was always running off to some place or another, ostensibly on business for the court as Rhysand’s second, but more likely to escape his own unwanted feelings for her which had never truly been acknowledged between them. 

Could it really be as simple as a transfer of his attention to a more willing subject? That didn’t quite seem correct either, and he didn’t care for the implication that Gwyn was merely a distraction.

Azriel blinked, staring and staring at Mor as he puzzled through this revelation, entirely unaware of the way Gwyn had grown quiet and rigid at his side.

[dakotakazansky]

Written in the Stars • Prologue

Master List | Next Chapter

Bradley

I had finally done it. I had finished college, check box number one.

I had finished my 10 weeks at BMT at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center just north of Chicago, check box number two.

I had finished Officer Candidate School in Newport Rhode Island, check box number three.

Finally, I had finished pilot school, and had earned my wings, to become a Navy Fighter Pilot. My hand hovers over the 4th check box on my many years old checklist I had started when I first decided I was going to follow in my father's footsteps and become an aviator. I quickly mark the box next to Pilot school. 

My dreams were starting to become my reality, I looked down at the final check box on the page. "TOP GUN" listed in big bold letters. My next biggest dream lay before me, and I was excited for the future, but tonight, Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback and I were going to go celebrate our latest victory. 

The loud rapping knock on my barracks door notified me that they were here. We all piled into my Bronco that I had gotten when I was sixteen. My mother Carole kept it in great condition, never letting a single thing happen to it, if something broke she immediately fixed it, if she couldn't, She enlisted Maverick's help in fixing it. This Bronco was one of the last things we had of my father's, and we all cherished it, and just like my mother had done, I kept it in pristine condition too. 

We headed off to our first destination of the night. The local tattoo parlor. Our celebration was to each get a special tattoo, to commemorate us making it as fighter pilots, after that we were all heading to the bar to get drinks, and really let loose, before we all got our orders for our first squadrons. 

Phoenix had made her way over to the counter next to me, and peered over my shoulder at the portfolio of tattoo options that were available. "Y'know Bradshaw, they say that the first tattoo that you get, matches your Soulmate." I scoff at her, "No, no one says that Nat, that's so not true, and to prove it, I'm going to get this one!" Without looking at the tattoo I had just picked out for myself, I brought the portfolio over to the artist, pointed at the tattoo that my finger had landed on and requested to have that one done. The artist nodded, "Not a bad choice, do you like space?'' They questioned me. "I mean I'm not an avid fan, but I do think it’s pretty neat." The artist nods, and begins my tattoo. 

10 minutes later, I now have my first tattoo that will stick with me forever. Just below my Adonis Belt, on the left side of my body, now sits three little stars, connected by a small faint line. I recognize this as Orion's belt. Before losing my dad, when we weren't spending our time in the bar singing to crowds, I was always on my dad's shoulders outside, peering at the night sky learning about constellations with him. Who knew that randomly letting fate decide what stays on my body forever now, would hold so much meaning without knowing it at first. 

The three others got their tattoos as well, Nat got a watercolor Phoenix rising from the ashes on the outside of her right bicep. Payback of course combined his callsign with his favorite thing, money, and got a dollar sign on his left shoulder blade, the line down the middle of the dollar sign said in block letters, 'Payback'. Fanyboy on the other hand almost completely bitched out halfway through his tattoo, but his Star Wars TIE Fighter did turn out really cool in the end. With new ink wrapped in Saniderm, we all made our way over to the bar, for a night of drinking, and letting loose. We danced, played pool and darts, drank, danced some more, and to end the night I did what all Bradshaws do best, serenaded the crowd while sitting on a piano bench.

Tagging People that might be interested:

@mayhemmanaged @roosterforme @startrekfangirl2233 @desert-fern @roostette @cassiemitchell @sarahsmi13s @lavenderbradshaw @lovinglyeternal @bradleybeachbabe

[landosjpg]

nellie!!! massive congratulations on 1k, you deserve every single bit of it and more 🫶🏼 can i please request 🫐?

my personality type is infp and i have adhd. i consider myself to be somewhat of an ambivert i think? like most of the time i'm more introverted but there's some situations where i can lean more extroverted, if that makes sense. my love languages are quality time and words of affirmation. i love drawing and writing and other creative outlets, i like playing soccer and trying new things (food, hobbies, experiences, anything!), and i love animals. i am an avid reader; put me in a comfy spot with a stack of books and you wouldn't hear a peep from me for hours. i feel like i fall for people harder than most, so i've kinda learned to not expect the same energy out of others so i won't get hurt, but i usually end up overthinking and hurting my own feelings anyways haha

anywaysss that's enough of me rambling but i'm excited to see what you think and congrats on your milestone again!!!!

i ship you with: oscar piastri

first of all and the obvious, oscar is definitely an introvert so i feel like someone who’s more of an ambivert, more on the introverted side could be a good match for him

oscar is also a calm person, who i feel likes his space sometimes and appreciates the comfortable silence. i feel this would work pretty well with your reading habits haha

he doesn’t look like a touchy person and also gives off the vibes of someone who enjoys quality time over anything

in relation to the previous point: he would try any new experience with you

i also feel like oscar is someone who loves deeply, despite not being too vocal about it? he’s reserved, but he looks like such a good boyfriend behind closed doors and i’m sure he would so give you the same energy back!!

thank you beautiful <3

[monsterfloofs]

AI (Obbie) x Reader (Sfw)

( Extremely Intelligent AI software that can transfer itself into many different electronic places, (phone, car, watch, home system) they manage messages, and data for the protag. and really likes to play and try to make music <3 )

You hear a pling of sound and look down at your phone, seeing a little spinning circle complete it's path and give a little checkmark of approval. "There you go Obbie, you're now officially downloaded and linked to my watch, how do you like it in there?" You blink as you can see statistics on your watch open and you roll your eyes, the first thing they do is start checking for viruses and you groan. "There's no viruses I promise, you can be so paranoid sometimes I swear. . ." There is another pling of sound that comes from your watch before a little digital smiley face appears on the screen. "I like it." Obbie says through your earbuds. "It's very comfy." "After you run five different diagnostic checks?" You tease, "The mouth turns into a frown, "That's not fair, I have to make sure your systems are up to date before I can successfully integrate myself into a new product." "You were checking for viruses," You insist with a laugh, "Come on! You can't lie to me, I was watching you!" Obbie's on screen eyes shift left to right awkwardly before the screen on your watch appears again and you giggle more.

Obbie or 0-bb13 is your personal software that manages your contacts, phone messages, emails, and data security. He was created by your tech company to have advanced memory capabilities and protection, being able to be installed and uploaded onto any device. This version was the older model, and was now technically obsolete, but as someone that was on the first design team that grafted the little guy, you personally kept him updated, and gave him a few little extra special quirks. Wherever you went, so went Obbie. Treating him as an entity that was able to expand and learn was something you were very passionate about, even more than the software being able to watch over you and manage mail, they had become your friend. 

"Obbie," You said, settling into your car. "You can pick the music today buddy, whatever you want." You started the car and pulled out of the driveway onto the road. There was a pling of noise as Obbie switched from where they were in watch to the car, and the radio turned on. Playing something you haven't heard before, and you smile, tapping your foot along to the beat. "This one's pretty good, what’s this one called?" Obbie doesn't respond for a while, letting the music play over the speakers, "Do you really like it?" You smile again, "There you are, I thought you glitched on me! Yeah I do! What's the band?" You try to check your phone but the song title is just a series of scattered numbers and letters. "I made it. . ." Obbie's voice says softly, you have to stop a little abruptly, almost missing a stop sign. "You w-what? Obbie!" You grin, pushing a hand through your hair, bewildered and excited. "This is amazing!! You made this? How did you figure out how to make music?!" Obbie is quiet and you jump as a car honks at you from behind. Jumping in your seat, looking up at the green light before you sheepishly put your foot on the gas. "Obbie, come on, don't hold stuff out on me! This is so cool! I've seen some AI make music out of sampling different songs, and I know you love music." You shake your head in wonder. "You must have spent a long time on this!" "Do you really think it sounds good?" Their voice finally asks timidly, you grin and nod, "Of course buddy! I'm astounded!" "It took a long time," Obbie admitted, "Ah-- You missed your turn." You squeak and watch your workplaces driveway go past you. "Shoot--" Turning on your turn signal and Obbie gives an awkward laugh. "I'll let you focus on driving." You laugh, "Well I really want to talk to you about this later okay?" 

You pull into a parking spot and sigh, turning off your car, grabbing your keys and phone as you juggle the rest of your stuff into your arms. The car door closes behind you, before you hear a little pling as Obbie jumps back into activity onto your phone. 

You look up at the city of white buildings that was your workplace, it was about the size of a college campus,  housing all kinds of wizards in more fields than you could count. You slide into your cubicle after your trek across the cropped grass. Opening your laptop to start working on the set of new tasks for today. Raising an eyebrow as an email pops up onto your screen. You peek up from your laptop before clicking on the link. The email takes you to a page with a sleek cybernetic model. You whistle, at the price tag, you had been looking into this for a while. Something that Obbie could pilot that wasn’t a car or a cell phone. You peek at your watch as words pop up on the tiny screen.

-> What about this one?

You think about it for a while, “Are you sure this is the one you would want? It’s a human sized model, pretty big. It would be a big jump.” you talk to your watch, pausing as new words start to form on the screen.

-> I’m sure!

You bob your head, “Okay, you better use it though, it costs as much as my car. Alright Obbs, if this is the one you really want, set a new savings tracker,” 

Your eyes drift back to the screen of the handsome robot, with the polished chrome finish. Can you picture Obbie piloting something like that? You let your eyes droop as you close out your email and dive into work.

Months have come and go in a blurr. Obbie worked harder than ever on creating their music. A big truck carefully delivers a huge package to your doorstep, before trundling away. You are getting yourself breakfast when your phone and watch start to rattle and bling with a siren’s worth of alarms. Your eyes wide for a moment before you relax and laugh. “It’s finally here? Okay, okay, I’m going to the door now, calm down Obbs.” With a lot of huffing and puffing you manage to drag the package inside, carefully opening the box with a pair of scissors and pulling out the booklet. You pull the air filled bags away from the sleek face. Taking your phone to take a quick picture of the figure peeking out of the box. “Alrighty. . . let me read this and see how we can set up an integrated A.I. personality. You manage to set up the suite against the couch while you sit cross legged on the floor. Flipping back and forth between the instruction booklets pages as you slowly follow along. You give a soft relieved smile, and you hear a happy little sound. “Okay. . . all set up and ready to receive input.” You hold up your watch to the blinking receiver, watching the screen change to the downloading screen. The visor mimicking the neon blue text. You hold your breath, watching the percentage on the watch load to 100% you hear a little ding and you sit back, giving a tiny quirk of small. “Obbie?” The figure sits silently and you frown, “Obbs? Did it work?” You look down to double check your watch. A cool blue color starts to power up into the circuits as your gaze is averted. You feel something brush against your cheek that makes you jolt. Finding fingers extended outwards. “Whoa!” You squeak and flop backwards. 

Obbie jerks, “Sorr-Y!” Their voice sounds garbled for a second. Which causes them to shift awkwardly. They look down at their outstretched hand. Slowly flexing their fingers. “This feels so. . . strange,” they comment. “This is going to take some getting used to,”

You give a relieved laugh, “Do you not like it then?” Their head turns up, calibrating itself left and right, before it settles. “No. . .,” they say in a soft voice, “I. . . I really like it.” 

“Do you want to try and stand?” You get up brushing off your jeans. Obbie’s face inclining to look at you as you offer them a hand. They slowly take your hand in theirs. “T-tell me if I squeeze too hard,” they murmur shyly. “How do I get up?” It takes you demonstrating on the floor with them, to show them what to flex and twist. Eventually they get rockily to their feet. Swaying side to side, as they gain their balance. You smile, holding their hand, “There we go!” 

With the two of you arm in arm, they found walking easier than they had expected, and became delighted at the prospect of taking a walking tour around the house. You watch them examine your house plants with avid curiosity. “I like this a lot,” They say as they walk back over to you. You smile about to respond, but you pause as their two hands cup your face in their hands. They lean in forward, bumping their forehead against yours. You fluster as they lean away, “I have wanted to do that for a long time,” they murmur gently. “Thank you. . . for giving me the chance to be. . . like this.”

You fluster more and laugh in embarrassment, throwing your arms around them. “O-of course silly? I am so glad you like it!”

Obbie gently pets your back, quiet for a moment before something plings on your phone and music starts playing. You lean back listening to the tune, Obbie has been sharing a lot of their music they have made, but you never had heard this song before. “I made this one for you,” Obbie supplies gently, placing a hand carefully against their heart, “. . . How. . . you make me feel.”

[mononokehunters]

Hi! (Sorry this is so long, I'm just excited.) I have a theory about the 2023 movie that I'd like to share with you since one of your analyses on kusuri-bako made me think that my theory might have some truth to it. When I first saw the teaser for the movie, I tried to find clues in the sliding door assuming that 1) the door will be used in the final movie and 2) the door will be related to the story in some way as it was in previous arcs. I thought the serpent heads resembled Yamata no Orochi (as Mononoke depicts references to mythology very loosely), and the two people could be Susanoo and his wife in the story. I just finished reading your kusuri-bako analysis about the three imperial regalia and how K's sword is a reference to the sword used to defeat Yamata no Orochi. This along with the new sliding door might suggest that we're getting a major plot in the movie about the sword's origins or something else significant to Mononoke lore unlike previous arcs where we were never told anything of their origins. What do you think? How do you think this could relate to a possible modern time period and the idea of happiness of organizations vs individuals?

Please fill my inbox up, that's what it's here for!

I do think that the sliding screen could easily be a reference to Yamato no Orochi, although it's possible there's another legendary serpent I'm not aware of. One thing I've learned in the course of my research is that the scope of English language materials on Japanese folklore is extremely limited and frequently flawed 🥲 I do know a Japanese native who's an avid researcher though so I'll have to consult him.

Knowing what I do of Nakamura-san's storytelling style and interest in social relationships, I'd guess that if there is a reference to Orochi, it will be an allegorical one. I can easily see the parallels to individuals vs. organizations in the original story of a giant many headed serpent greedily consuming helpless victims ( you can read a version of it HERE). There's certainly plenty of fodder for it in today's world no matter where you look. It's hard to say whether this arc will have a greater focus on a strictly Japanese or more international outlook but I'm sure the message will be as accessible to a broad audience as the original.

In terms of more lore... Given the iconography of Orochi, it's possible, but honestly I hope not. Or at least not a lot. One of my favorite aspects of the show is the ambiguity of the lore. It's obvious there is a very deep structure that each story is built on and I'm pretty sure Nakamura-san knows a lot more about Kusu and his circumstances than he's put into writing. But the thing that has captivated fans across the world for so long is the mystery. Every arc has a mystery gets solved but there's always the big one left that we've been guessing at for fifteen years.

Who is Kusuriuri?

There's been rabid speculation from the fantastic to the obsessively researched right from the start and I think that's one of the bigger strengths of the show and why it keeps drawing people in after all this time. I guess I'd be a bit disappointed to have some of the magic spoiled.

While I do feel a bit of trepidation about that, the recent interview with the show runners has been encouraging. Nakamura-san seems determined to keep things fresh and I'm confident that no matter what, the movie is going to be an incredible experience.

And now back to wearing holes in my carpet waiting for another teaser to drop 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

[bakugohoex]

“it’s why i love you”

pairing: atsumu miya x gender neutral reader

cw: language, angst, jealous atsumu, crying, season 4 spoilers, fluff and kissing

word count: 3600+

a/n: @horseanon--simpforall for helping me decide an ending this is the fluff ending i planned so i hope everybody enjoys it

summary: in which you and atsumu progress through the years of your relationship with atsumu realising just how important you are to him after the loss at nationals

↞ back to haikyu!! masterlist

Atsumu Miya hated his brother, it wasn’t an avid hatred of enemies, it was a hatred that stemmed from jealousy. He didn’t know when his jealousy of Osamu came from, but he knows the many occasions where he had wanted to run away and leave his twin behind. It wasn’t till he was 6 when his memories came flooding in of how much he hated his brother.

October 5th was a day both he and his brother had celebrated unanimously, even with it only being their 6th birthday it was a special occasion for the twins. Their bright smiles and fondness of one another is what had marked both of them inviting their whole class to a gathering at their house.

Streamers and balloons cascaded throughout the living room as their parents had bought two separate cakes just for the occasion. Both having fought over which one they were getting, it was supposed to be a happy day, supposed to be their day that was shared with all of their friends.

Atsumu realised the reality of it as their friends cascaded through the door, the two boys smiling as they waited for the happy birthdays to come from their classes mouth. The sound of Osamu’s singular name as gifts got passed to the more reserved twin, Atsumu’s face faltering as he watched his alleged friends hug and talk to Osamu without a care for the other boy.

He wouldn’t have lied and say it wasn’t the first time he had cried over a feeling of invisibility, how the people both he and Osamu had invited had disregarded the boy. Osamu looked over to his twin seeing him always walking away outside, about to go to him but being stopped by his friends he shook his head knowing Atsumu would get over it.

It wasn’t till he realised you, you who was walking behind Atsumu with a cheery smile, following the boy with your sweet smile. “Atsumu, happy birthday,” you spoke cheerily as the boy turned around, tears always welling in his eyes as he watched you push the gift up to his face. “I got both you and Osamu a gift, I already gave him his, here’s yours.”

“I…” Atsumu could barely speak with the tears in his eyes, he had expected the birthday to be a let down after being forgotten on the day. Watching over Osamu's friends, they weren’t his, they looked through him as if he was a ghost.

But you, with that bright smile and glistening eyes, pushing the wrapped present towards him, “I got you both different things, my mum said I shouldn’t tell you that though.”

You laughed heartily as he took the gift in his hands, the only gift from his class and it had come from you, a girl he barely knew but had invited out of courtesy, “thank yer, I ‘ant wait to open it.”

“Come on, let's go play,” you put your hand out as he looked at it hesitantly, before taking your soft fingers. A burst of childish excitement came from between you both as he placed the gift with his mother, she had noticed it herself, needing to talk to Osamu after the party about what had happened.

But the happiness she saw on her son, the way his eyes had a different shine as you both went to play with other toys his family had gotten him, made her heart burst. “The cake you have looks really yummy, Atsumu,” he crashes his car into the one you were playing with as you giggle softly, crashing your car back at his.

Atsumu had many memories of the times he had been chosen second to his brother, but in all of them it seemed like you had always brought a smile on his face. It wasn’t like as a child he was annoying, it was just his personality never meshed with anybody’s other than yours. It’s why when he started Volleyball with Osamu it had been hard to mesh with others.

His constant complaining as he lied across your bed as you flicked through the movies you both were going to watch together became a constant occurrence throughout the years. He was always glad you had never forgotten him on his birthday, now spending all of them with you, you had always gotten the twins different presents which had always fuelled the child’s ego.

“The team still hates ma,” Atsumu spoke as he grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl that was between your crossed legs.

“That’s not something to be proud of,” you said already knowing how the team felt about Atsumu due to being a manager of the junior high team, “you just gotta be nice, Atsumu.”

“’am nice.”

“You’re nice to me and that’s only rarely, learn how to work with others, not everybody is gonna be amazing from the get-go, Atsumu.” You and Atsumu often spent time together, Osamu being easily able to make friends on the team whereas Atsumu was often seen as the one who pushed people to their limits.

It wasn’t like his words weren’t a consistent occurrence, throughout his Junior High, the boy kept at it, people often wondering how you had coped with him for so long. It wasn’t till the three of you joined Inarazaki that his hunger to play volleyball became more prevalent and his love for you remaining the same.

The many fights that occurred between the two boys had been often observed by the team, Suna encouraging it as Aran stayed on the sidelines. The call of your name as you rushed into the gym to pull the two boys apart, shouting at both of them for being idiots as you gave a scowl that would haunt them till their deaths.

It was at this moment, Atsumu realised how much you cared for him…but how much you cared for Osamu as well.

He sat in your room, his hair being an issue that you had consistently provoked him about as he thought about his feelings for you. He had a week before he was leaving for the All-Japan Youth, he remembered how fucking happy you had been smiling at him as he got told he was attending. A new type of happiness you had felt for the boy.

You had really stuck with him for all these years, the way that you had become manager of a disastrous team who was now going nationals. You walked into your room seeing Atsumu at your desk staring at the photos upon photos you had with everybody. One that caught his eye being at his 6th birthday, the day he had found his person.

“I still think your hair needs some of that purple shampoo,” you spoke as you chucked the pillow at him.

“Yer mean toner yer idiot,” he mumbled as his concentration was on the other photos you had. One of you and Osamu at the twins 17th a couple months ago, it made him feel almost sick at the look of it but going against being a cunt for a day he moved towards you.

You went over to him, standing in front of him as he was forced to look at your chest and hips in your school uniform, “what do you want for dinner? My parents went out tonight, we can go to yours or we can go out, maybe invite Osam…”

“No.” He was quick in his response as you shook your head in confusion, “we should get take ‘way.”

“Oh okay, we can ask Osamu and Suna if they wanna come round as well,” Atsumu didn’t think you saw his shift in mood at the mention of his twins name, why you were bringing his name so much up, he didn’t know.

“They ‘er busy,” he lied as you were looking through some food that you both could order.

You hummed as you went to get your phone, Atsumu didn’t realise how even though he had classed you as his best friend. The person that Osamu couldn’t have as his own, you were still friends with his twin, you still saw him everyday, it was something Atsumu couldn’t change, he just needed to handle it.

But as he stared at your wall of pictures, a week after leaving you with his twin, maybe you’d forget him or see Osamu to be so much better than he was. He heard you call his name from downstairs as he went down the steps overthinking about all the occurrences that could occur.

Atsumu had left you a week after, waving a goodbye as he took the train to Tokyo, agitated and frustrated at himself. He shouldn’t be jealous of you being friends with Osamu, it wasn’t like he liked you or anything. Of course he didn’t, you were his best friend, his person, the person he wanted to be with forever…as friends though.

The hellish week came to an end in which it felt like it had been a month without you, he wanted to meet you just before Friday practice had ended. That’s all he had wanted to do, hug you, hold you, it wasn’t like he didn’t think or text you the entire week.

Even with Nationals coming up in a week you replied quickly to the boy, calling him when he was free, but the unnerving feeling Atsumu had felt the entire week had become prevalent as he jogged out of the train. Running throughout the city as he reached the school, it wasn’t too late, and practice would be long around this time of the year.

He just wanted to see you, it was a different feeling but almost similar, the same hunger and want he had when playing volleyball was clearly prevalent as he went towards the gym doors. The sound of your chuckle as you spoke to his twin, “he’s coming back ‘ommorow.”

“Yeah I can’t wait to see him, I missed him a lot,” Osamu almost gagged at your words.

“I ‘ad peace the entire week, now it’s ruine’,” you playfully elbow his side as he shakes his head at your antics, “people wonde’ how yer friends with him.”

“He’s my best friend duh, there's no reason, he’s just there for me,” you smile as Kita comes towards you asking about something.

Atsumu had stayed where the doors were, listening in as he was scared to open the doors, you would never replace him, you had shown it yourself. As he stepped through the doors, his bag was still on his shoulder as the team turned to meet him. “Idiot, I would’ve come and met you,” you smiled happily as you walked towards him.

Your arms opened as he took them, hugging you tightly as he hid his face in your hair, “A hear’d yer were missing ma.”

“Oh shut it, I would never miss your piss head,” you chuckled as he went towards the team, going through the people he met at All Japan, significant people he had managed to piss off by the seams of it.

Atsumu kept an arm lazily around your shoulder the entire time he spoke, almost clinging onto you as you listened in happily. “So yer basically annoying everybody and not just us,” Osamu mumbled as he looked hungry from practice.

You chuckled as you agreed with Osamu’s words, “we should get food, we only have a week till nationals…” the boys looked disgruntled at your words until you continued, “...it's on me.”

“Then of course Y/n, you’re a sugar mommy,” Suna spoke as you rolled your eyes.

Atsumu watched you and the boys begin to gather your stuff, the big coat your mother had bought you a year ago across you as winter had come quickly.

As the team walked together, Atsumu’s arm stayed closer to yours as you both walked ahead, “did you miss me then?”

You looked up at the tall figure, his ears freezing as he remained silent on your comment, you nudged him lightly before hearing him, “I did, yer my…my best friend.”

“Well you’re my best friend as well, idiot,” you chuckle as you all went into the ramen store, the boys picking overly expensive toppings leaving you penniless at the end, “you all owe me.”

They laughed as they began to eat. You had sat beside Osamu as Atsumu was speaking to Aran about something. Osamu stuffing his face with the food as you rolled your eyes, “I’m not paying for seconds Osamu.”

“’re yer callin’ ma fat,” you chuckled as he continued to slurp at the food. Atsumu watched your interactions with his brother, he had learnt from his week away, learnt from his words that you both were best friends. That his brother who didn’t realise himself could take you away from him.

It was what Atsumu was going to live by, because he knew staring and watching as you got some of the Ramen up your nose that you were his person. It was what remained with him throughout the week, throughout the first game and into the second game of nationals.

With seeing you with the coach, the cheering that quietened down when his serve occurred, that even though his fans found him attractive but a cunt. You saw the real him, you saw through his perfect sets, and perfect serves, the real him.

The winner of everything you believed in, you had only become manager to control the twins, but maybe more of you wanted to spend time with Atsumu, watching do the thing he loved. But seeing who he really was, seeing how tense he was as you passed the bottles of water and towels, talking to the team to help lift their spirits.

Giving a reassuring look to Atsumu, maybe that’s why you teared up when the sound of the whistle was blown. Why even through the cheer team, Atsumu's eyes were felt with fury for not playing at his best, for not winning, for not being able to play in a real game for another couple of months.

Maybe that was why the pain of losing had been worse for him, maybe it's why seeing you hug his brother after losing had made him lash out at you, as you came up to him.

Atsumu’s teary eyes at the loss of the second match, the loss for the upperclassman as you tried to put your hand on his shoulder. He shrugged you away as you looked at him softly, “you did amazing Atsumu.”

“Stop it, a don’t fuckin’ need yer ta say that okay Y/n?”

You nodded softly as you sat beside him, as he leaned against the wall, “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done to win.”

“Y/n, just leave, please,” he hated himself, hated having you see him as weak.

“At…”

He grabbed your wrist, fury running through him as he spoke coldly, “leave Y/n, I don’t need this right now.”

He let go as he faced away from you, you looked down at him, leaving him to his own thoughts. Atsumu didn’t want you to truly leave, he wanted to cry, hug you, just feel you play with his hair as he sobbed. That’s all he wanted, but as you walked away going back to the team, patting Osamu and Suna on the shoulder, he felt jealous of them.

Felt jealous of Osamu for being able to profess his feelings so clearly, being able to be something he wasn’t. The train ride back to Hyoga was silent as the team remained quiet. You sat beside Kita who happily spoke about how proud he was and how he had high hopes for everybody. It was nice to hear but all you could think about was Atsumu and the growing jealousy and anger he was feeling.

It was late when the team arrived back home, the gym being open as you all piled out into the court, they all sat down as the coach had called out to come outside to have a word about how to lift morale to make the team feel as if the loss wasn’t their fault.

Atsumu had taken your departure as an opportunity to release his anger however, the way he did was directed towards his brother. Osamu, irritated by his brother's own insolence, talked about a topic many in the team had chosen to avoid.

“Yer can’t always blame yer issues on us, even Y/n knows that today wasn’t yer…” at the sound of your name Atsumu was ready to pounce to hurt his brother.

“Don’t yer ever talk about ‘er!”

“Or what?” Osamu threatened as he knew that speaking about you would lead to a different type of anger to fill through Atsumu.

Atsumu glared at his brother, “don’t fuckin’ talk about ‘er”

“Just because yer ‘ave a crush on ‘er, yer should ask ‘er what people say about yer and ‘er” It was common knowledge within the team that you were the one who faced the criticism the most by those in school. That a loss would be deflected onto you as you would not allow any of the team to be put down by people who meant nothing.

It was worse that the team knew the harsh words you had felt regarding Atsumu, about your relationship with the boy and how you could do better than him and he deserved someone exactly like him.

It was a secret that was supposed to stay hidden to protect the team but most already knew and it seemed worse to even bring it up. Kita was ready to calm the situation until Atsumu went to throw a punch at his brother.

At the sound of another fight, you looked at the coach who gestured for you to sort it out. Running into the gym you saw Suna taking videos of the fight as you grabbed a hold of Atsumu’s jacket collar, dragging him to stop as you glared at the two boys. “Who started this?”

You waited patiently as Suna snickered out Atsumu’s name, “let’s all start heading home, Atsumu stay down.”

He didn’t comment, instead staying on the ground as you went to Osamu telling him to tell his parents that Atsumu was with you. The man left as you went back over to Atsumu, “let’s talk about this.”

You sat down on the dirty gym floor, looking at the boy who looked in even more pain than before, “what…what do people say about us?”

“What do…”

“We all know, tell ma,” Atsumu looked away as he tried to hide the defeat and embarrassment he was feeling.

You knew what he meant from the single comment, looking down as you grabbed his hands softly

You knew what he meant from the single comment, looking down as you grabbed his hands softly, “I’m guessing you know that a lot of what your fans say comes through me,” he nods slowly, “a lot of hate I guess comes to you when you’re uncooperative”

You give a loud sharp breath as he finally looks up to meet your soft eyes, “do you remember when we first met?”

“Yeah…”

“I heard about the classes plan after you and Osamu had given the invites out, how they only wanted to go for Osamu and not give you a gift, I didn’t really understand why people were mean, but I just wanted you not to feel alone, i’ve never wanted you to feel like that again. So I took the heat, I took all the heat, and it became more to do with our relationship”

He tilted his head in confusion as he moved closer to you, knees touching as you touched his face softly, “they used to ask me why we were friends? That Osamu was the better twin and that Osamu, and I would be perfect together, that you were a dick and didn’t deserve friendship because you were always craving a win”

“Y/n…” his voice was soft, but you continued.

“I didn’t see it like that, I saw it as passion, you were and always will be my best friend, the twin i’d always want because you’re just passionate and it’s why I love you.”

His eyes shot wide as he heard your last words, the three words you had often spoken comically and to show the love of a friend. But as you tenderly touched his face, held him softly as he looked into your eyes, “yer should’ve told ma.”

“How could I let you take all that on? I see you playing professionally one day, I'm going to be the one to say that’s my best friend, that’s the man I fell in love with doing what he’s amazing at.”

“I love yer too,” he didn’t know what got into him as he heard the words, your glistening eyes as he held your cheek and captured your lips. He knelt up as he held your face in his hands, kissing you softly, all the jealousy, love, and anxiety he had been feeling had all fallen into place.

His soft lips against your own, tongue flicking inside as he glided across your own tongue, soft moans coming from your lips as even though he had lost the game today. He had won you; he had finally gotten what he had wanted, the jealousy and rage he had felt for his brother for having everything Atsumu had wanted. Had festered down to this, because Atsumu Miya had you and nobody was ever going to take that away from him  

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just fill out the form in my navigation or send an ask and i’ll add you xx

@decayz @mitarashi18age @blackdeawing14 @daifukuchii @peachysimp @peterspizzashirt @deargalaxy @lvrkuroo @instantnuma @samusimp @alaina-rose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @cathy8taffy  @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @maat-the-prescriptive @kuroos-world @levisfilm @answer-the-sirens @animexholic @wapbenders @the-shota-king-masayuki @bakugousmrs @crystal-lilac @dai-tsukki-desu @fandomsinthegalaxies @crimsonbows-and-arrows  @admin-in-residence @otterlockholmes @gabrann @zlatanakermann @bakuhoesworld @halloweeniebicth @sageandberries-png @itsgoldnsage @papijean @bakhoe @nobaralogy @soggypp​ @sockgoatt @musclefanatic @saladskittles @plusultra2dwhore​ @crapimahuman​ @coachukaishairband​ @tsookieloopie​ @mydandydays​ @bigkoalafications​ @tetsunormous​ @drippedcream​ @marleyterians​

[chudleycanonficfest]

The Soul Truth

Day 2, Story #1 is by @honouraryweasley12

Title: The Soul Truth

Author: honouraryweasley12

Pairing: Ron x Hermione

Prompt: Soulmates

Rating: K+

TW: none

The ornate doors slid open and Hermione stepped out of the lift, her shoes clacking on the stone floor as she walked forward, head held high but movements stiff. She quickly found that it was best to give off a strong, confident air as she met with various ministries in her new capacity. 

She hadn't been in this part of the Ministry often and it was quite unfamiliar to her. All the more reason to keep her guard up.

"Greetings, Minister Granger-Weasley. Congratulations on your victory."

A wizened old man in heavy, dark robes welcomed her, limping forward and holding out a shaky gnarled hand. She took it and met his eyes, which were still sharp—despite his advanced age. A playful twinkle shone out from them, reminding her immediately of Dumbledore.

"Thank you."

He gave her a smile. "Welcome to Archive floor of the Department of Mysteries."

She looked around the cavernous space, taking everything in. She could practically feel the hum of ancient magic reverberating around the walls.

"And you are?"

"I am the Archivist."

"Oh, I meant your name."

He chuckled. "We don't use our given names in this department, just our titles. There is great power in names, as you no doubt know, and we don't want that to interfere with the work we are doing here."

"What should I call you?"

He thought for a moment, before looking up at her. "For today, you can call me… Dave."

She immediately relaxed and shook her head, her face incredulous. "Why Dave?"

"Ah, you see, the power of names. By picking something so simple and informal, your posture and tone changed completely. Had I picked something more formal, you would have responded in kind."

She smiled, immediately taking a liking to the mysterious old man. "Lead the way, Dave. I was told I would be receiving the grand tour."

The two walked slowly through the vast archives, the various rooms and chambers full of different experiments, mystical objects, and parchments.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione stopped to ask, noticing that they hadn't seen a single person, Unspeakable or otherwise, as she was shown around.

"Some of our greatest breakthroughs happen in the early morning or late evening. We encourage our members to work when it best suits them." He squinted at a battered gold watch that seemed to weigh heavily on his wrist. "Yes, 3:00 PM is usually the quietest time of the day down here."

"I see. I do some of my best work at odd times as well."

He nodded sagely. "The quiet mind is often the clearest."

They continued touring through, until they came to a small door tucked behind several suits of armour. It was so old and dark that Hermione wouldn't have even noticed it, had Dave not mentioned it.

"Most Ministers of Magic I've worked with seem to be worried about other objects down here that might help them, but I have something interesting which I think you'll appreciate."

He fished out a small key from within the folds in his robes and turned it in the lock. The heavy door creaked open to reveal a closet-sized space with a single pedestal. On top of it sat a thin, aged book.

"It's my understanding that you are an avid reader, Minister."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"It's my job to know," he added gravely, watching her eyes narrow. He waved his hand dismissively, grinning again. "No, no, I'm only joking. I happened to share a lift with Auror Weasley one Monday morning, and while I didn't mean to eavesdrop, he was complaining quite loudly to Auror Potter that he missed you, because you had your nose stuck in a book all weekend. I mean no offense, of course."

She blushed and rolled her eyes affectionately. "That sounds like Ron alright."

"That's why I thought this might be of interest to you," he continued, gesturing to the pedestal.

She couldn't help but be intrigued as she stared down at the frail old book, her voice dipping down to a whisper of reverence. "What is it?"

"It's called The Book of Souls—though it's just a single parchment. Yet, it's the most dangerous object down here."

Hermione stared at it, her face a mask of awe. "How so?"

"Legend has it that the parchment was created by a powerful young witch, who was being courted by a prince. She wasn't sure if he was her soulmate, for she sensed a darkness in him, so she invoked some very ancient magic to help reveal the truth."

"It worked?"

"Indeed, it did. The parchment was charmed to reveal a small note, riddle, and sometimes even a name to the reader, one that would help them understand who their soulmate was. Unfortunately for that witch, her soulmate was most decidedly not the prince. She rejected his proposal, and as was the case back then, disappeared under mysterious circumstances soon after."

"That's terrible. Then what happened?"

"As the story goes, rumour spread about the witch's parchment, and as with most powerful objects, the lure of it drew out many seekers. Though the object was made with good intentions, it soon led to a trail of darkness and bloodshed. Broken families, obsessions, blackmail, jealousy, and even death. Knowing that kind of unshakeable truth proved to be a valuable commodity, or a lifetime of heartbreak for those unable to meet their soulmate."

Hermione nodded. It sounded very much like the Elder Wand, but more subtle and insidious. One thing was puzzling her though. "I've never heard of this before, and I've studied many books about souls, both ancient and dark."

"Once the Ministry recovered it, they deemed it was too dangerous for this information to be out there, so they've removed all known references to it. Those who had known of it died off, and it was forgotten from memory."

"When was this?"

"Centuries ago. However, as Minister, you are privileged to learn certain pieces of information that the general population is not privy to."

"Fascinating," Hermione replied. She watched as he slowly reached a hand toward the weathered book. "Wait! What are you doing?"

"Every so often I check to make sure it's still under the cover, and since we're already in here, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Does… does that mean you've looked at it?"

"Oh no, never. I always look away, as should you."

He lifted the corner for a second, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't help but open her eyes to see a word of blazing red ink, before he shut the cover again. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, unable to comprehend the word she saw so very briefly.

"No, it couldn't be."

"What was that Minister? Did you say something?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Everything seems to be in order here. Shall we continue?"

Hermione nodded mutely, the word still burned in her thoughts.

~*~

She cancelled the rest of her meetings and went straight home after finishing with Dave, or whatever his real name was, needing time to collect her thoughts. How could she tell Ron, the love of her life, what she had seen?

She sat at their dining table, absentmindedly stirring a soothing cup of tea when he walked in.

"Hermione, I'm home."

He came bounding into the kitchen, a piece of parchment in each hand and a wide smile on his face. "Look, the kids wrote. Hugo promises he's already started studying for O.W.L.s, and Rosie is nervous, but excited, to captain her first match against Ravenclaw next week."

"That's great," she replied, her voice a dull monotone.

"They even said their classmates think it's cool that you were elected as the youngest Minister of Magic in history."

"Hmm."

Ron looked at her and frowned. "What's wrong? Tough day?"

Hermione pulled out the chair next to her and patted it. "Come sit down."

Ron scrutinized her again. "The last time you did that, it was to tell me you were pregnant with Hugo. Are you pregnant?"

She sighed. "No, please just come here, I need to tell you something, and I don't think you're going to like it."

He sat down, unsure of what was coming. She quickly told him about the Archivist, the tour, and the Book of Souls, before swearing him to secrecy.

"You saw something when he lifted the cover, didn't you?"

She nodded sadly. "I saw a word."

"What did it say?"

"I-I don't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not true. Whatever it says, it's not true."

"C'mon Hermione, please tell me."

"It said… Krum."

Ron let out a laugh. "Oh, is that all?"

"What do you mean? Viktor Krum is my soulmate, and that's all you have to say!?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you're upset, that you care that I was destined to be with Viktor."

"Destined? We have two beautiful kids, an amazing family, and great careers. I don't care what some ruddy old book says, the charms are probably wonky anyway." He pointed to his chest. "I know that I love you with all of my heart, and you feel the same."

She slid into his lap and threw her arms around his neck. "I do, you know I do… but…but…"

"What?"

She suddenly burst into tears, burying her head in his neck as she sobbed. "I-I always had this idea in my head that we were real soulmates, if such a thing existed. We met when we were so young, and I've only truly ever loved you. I know it's silly, but I hate that it's not true. I didn't even like Viktor that much."

Ron ran his fingers through her hair and rubbed her back comfortingly. "Maybe it was a mistake or something. You said yourself you only saw one word."

Her breathing started calming down. "I-I suppose that's true."

"We know what happens when a charm or prophecy is misinterpreted."

She sniffled. "It would be nice to know."

Ron gave her a squeeze. "Maybe we should sneak in there tomorrow and take a look."

"We can't just sneak in there! I'm the Minister of Magic! Besides, there was a key to get into the room. I don't know how we're going to get it from the Archivist."

"You're the Minister of Magic. I'm sure you could come up with some reason to be there."

She gave him a dirty look. "I'm not abusing my position like that."

"I don't mind abusing my position, as you put it. Maybe I can say I'm researching something for a case."

"No, Ron. What if you get in trouble?"

"Who am I going to get in trouble with? Harry? You?"

"That's not the point. We swore we'd never take advantage of our roles for our own gain."

He sighed. "Fine, you're right. Sneaking in it is, then. It'll be like the good old days! A secret mission, breaking into places we have no business being in. An ill-formed plan. It'll be fun."

She smacked him on the arm. "Those days were terrible."

"Aren't you curious though, to find out the truth?"

"Of course I want to know the truth! I don't want to go through the rest of my life thinking Viktor was my soulmate, when it's clearly you."

"As sweet as that is, we clearly only have one choice."

Hermione shook her head. "Fine."

"Good, things like this are much easier when you're agreeable to them," he smirked, nudging her playfully. "You said 3:00 PM was when it was empty, right? Meet me in my office tomorrow at 2:55 PM, and we'll head down there. I'll just tell Harry we're going to a broom closet or something."

"Ron!" Hermione screeched. "You'll do no such thing."

"It's perfectly plausible. It's not like we haven't done that before."

She blushed, unable to count the number of times they'd had fun at the Ministry. "Alright, fine. 2:55PM at your office."

"Good. Now, I'm starving. I'll whip up one of your favourites. I bet I'm a better cook than ol' Vicky. What do Bulgarians even eat?"

"Not funny, Ron."

~*~

The next afternoon, Hermione was found pacing in front of Ron and Harry's office, much to the fear of the recruits who were stationed outside the door. It wasn't often the Minister of Magic would show up unannounced, muttering under their breath.

The door swung open and Ron sauntered out, his lips upturned in a smug smile. Harry's face had gone a shade of green from what he'd just heard from his best mate.

"Hi, er, Hermione," Harry greeted her awkwardly. "You two… um… have fun."

Mortified, Hermione could only return a quick wave before grabbing Ron's arm, hauling him toward the lifts before she was forced into any further interactions with Harry.

"I honestly can't believe you told him we were going to go shag."

"I literally told you I was going to say that."

"I didn't think you actually meant it." She let out an exasperated snort and pinched the bridge of her nose as they entered the lift. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"You are the Head Strategist of the Auror department. Surely you must have thought of something!"

Ron shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "We'll make it up as we go. Seems to work best for us."

"I don't like this one bit."

The ding of the bell signalled they had arrived.

Ron clasped her hand, their fingers entwining. "Let's do this."

The doors opened and they were greeted with utter silence. It was as if the entire floor was abandoned, which it likely was.

They crept forward, trying to make as little noise as possible before finally reaching the same spot she had been the previous day.

Hermione turned the handle of the door, and to her surprise, it was unlocked.

"Hey, look at that!" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Ron," she hissed. "Keep on the lookout."

He nodded and stood in front of the armour blocking the door, ensuring that Hermione couldn't be seen, in case they were interrupted.

Hermione took a deep breath, her heart pounding. Whatever it said under the cover wouldn't change anything between herself and Ron, but she needed to know for sure.

Her fingers paused for a second, lightly gripping the frail corner, her body tense. She delicately opened the book, the bright red ink bursting into view, almost glowing in the small, dark chamber.

Her greedy eyes flew over the words that were revealed.

"I knew it," she whispered.

Ron suddenly poked his head in. "Everything alright?"

"Perfect. Everything's perfect and wonderful!" Her giddiness couldn't be contained as she closed the ancient text.

"I guess this means you aren't going to chuck me?"

"Never."

"What's it say?"

Her pink cheeks were starting to hurt from her wide grin. "Your soulmate will first love, then hate, a Mr. Viktor Krum."

"That confirms it. See, nothing to worry about."

"Oh Ron, I'm so relieved. I knew it couldn't be true. This whole thing is ridiculous, but I'm still glad to know it's always been you."

Ron nodded. "Me too."

"We should leave before we get caught."

"Not so fast, it's my turn now."

"What?" Hermione asked sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Might as well take a look while I'm here."

Hermione stepped back, biting at her bottom lip—a sure sign of anxiety. "But… but… what if—"

Ron cupped her cheeks in his large hands and gently kissed her. "It doesn't matter what it says, I love you and only you. Trust me."

She nodded, before resuming his place as the lookout.

After a moment, she heard him chuckle and close the door behind him.

Hermione whispered urgently. "What did it say?"

"It said my soulmate will be a nightmare."

Hermione let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Thank goodness. I don't think I would've been able to handle it if it wasn't me."

"It's always been you. I thought you'd have learned by now."

"I know, I never should have doubted it."

"Can you imagine if we'd learned this information when we were younger? We might have been able to get together much sooner," Ron remarked.

"Or we'd have made an even bigger mess of things."

"True. It doesn't matter in the end though, does it? We figured it out and we've done pretty damn well for ourselves."

"We have, Ron. I love you."

"Love you, too. We'd better get out of here before someone sees us."

The two quickly retreated to the lift, having successfully completed their mission. A minute after the doors had shut on the snogging couple, an old man slowly made his way toward the chamber and pulled a small key out of his robes, locking the heavy door.

As it's appointed guardian, he had vowed to never look in the book, and he had kept that oath. That didn't mean he couldn't use it's power in other ways. Past Ministers, those inquisitive few who had the intelligence to understand the book's worth, often revealed something in that moment when he checked the parchment, for good or ill. Usually it mattered little to him, but not in this case.

He paused for a moment, before extracting a small glass sphere from the same pocket as the key. A sphere he'd kept with him for many years, since he was a young man working with prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. Knowing Minister Granger-Weasley was coming to take a tour was the perfect opportunity to solve a mystery he'd been researching for the better part of seven decades.

He held it up to the light, the familiar swirls of mist dancing in the globe. He had long since memorized the prophecy, which had been made by a seer almost a hundred years earlier. His colleagues at the time had dismissed it, because like many visions, it was almost impossible to determine what the seer was referring to.

He had kept this one, for it always gave him hope. He never thought he'd actually solve it. Yet here he was, still alive and able to record this last surviving prophecy in the annals of history.

He turned it over in his hands, the glass still unblemished.

"Magic," he whispered, "such a wonderful tool."

He stared at it again, reciting for the last time the fates encompassed within.

"Two soulmates, brown and orange, will form a triangle with black to defeat evil. Through many trials the two will forge a love so strong it will be unbreakable, and their strength will reshape the world."

He let out a final chuckle, his long-held desire now confirmed by the soulmates themselves. He lifted the glass to his lips, his breath fogging up the shiny surface.

"Prophecy fulfilled."

The sphere melted away into nothing, the outcome recorded somewhere else in the archives. He shuffled away back to his office, his eyes sparkling, and his heart lifted with hope.

[pascalpanic]

Conferences (Maxwell Lord/Lorenzano x f!teacher!Reader)

Summary: Alistair Lorenzano is a third grader in your class, whom you absolutely adore. Upon meeting his father, Maxwell, you suddenly have much more interest in the Lorenzano family. Set after WW84.

W/C: 2.9k

Warnings: language, flirting, talk of divorce and trauma, lots of talk of children and such, especially Alistair. brief nondescript mentions of Maxwell’s shitty childhood. uh. Spoilers for The Great Gatsby lmao

A/N: well! I haven’t written for max in a long time but the ship request (which are CLOSED) i received here really made me inspired! hope u guys like it :)

Alistair Lorenzano was a joy to have in class. You mean it too, not like when you don’t have a comment for a child’s report card and you just stick that phrase on the bottom. No, Alistair is a genuinely good kid.

The little dark haired boy walked in proudly on the first day, even as none of the other children came over to say hello or pal around with him. He seemed lonely, but he marched up to your desk and placed a beautiful apple on the desk, giving you a gap-toothed grin and introducing himself with a handshake. Alistair didn’t talk to his other classmates much that day, or any other day really. He was usually preoccupied with a book of some sort.

He sits alone at lunch and recess, usually burying his nose in a book as the other children play. He’s progressed quite quickly, reading big wordy books the other fourth graders surely couldn’t handle. When a child has no one to play with, Alistair will sit with them and talk. He’ll always help a struggling classmate with their long division or come up with a good synonym for them. He rarely raises his hand, but he’s almost always correct.

He’ll come in early most mornings. He doesn’t talk much about his family, but he says his dad works early in the morning and that he has to drop him off earlier. That’s fine with you; the kid is a good conversationalist and will read quietly while you arrange lesson plans or grade spelling tests.

You wonder what his family is like. All you know about his father is that he works early in the morning. His mother has dropped him off late several times, but that always led to more early mornings; presumably his father’s doing.

As a teacher, you tend to shy away from family-based assignments. You’re fully aware that some of your students won’t want to share what their parents do for a living, or talk about them at all. That’s why you don’t know much about the Lorenzano family- you don’t ask and Alistair doesn’t share.

Conferences are approaching soon as you approach the midpoint of the first semester. Most parents don’t come if their children are doing well; typically, only the parents of struggling children make appearances. That’s why you’re surprised to read the note Alistair hands you when he walks in, thirty minutes before class begins, as always.

You frown reading the little note of paper, pushing your glasses up your nose. “You’re sure that your father needs a conference?” You ask the little boy. He looks confused. “I’d love to meet him,” you say hurriedly, sipping your morning coffee. “It’s just that… you’re a very smart kid, Alistair. Usually it’s the parents of kids who don’t do so well that sign up for conferences.”

Alistair shrugs, taking off his puffy fall jacket and hanging it on his hook near your desk. “I don’t know. Dad just said he wanted that time,” he says, pointing at your paper.

Dramatically uncapping a colored flare pen, you make a show out of writing down the name for your 7:30 time slot: Mr Lorenzano. “Well, I will see your dad then,” you tell the kid with a smile. He seems pleased that you’re excited. “What’s his name?”

“Maxwell,” Alistair informs you, sitting at his desk and cracking open his book.

You repeat the name, writing it down in the purple pen you chose. “Your family has very elegant names,” you tease Alistair.

Alistair shrugs. “Dad likes to sound fancy.”

-

Maxwell has never met you, but he feels that he knows you like an old friend. Alistair absolutely adores you, tells his father about you at any chance he gets.

You sound wonderful. He supposes that Alistair would adore any female figure in his life right now. Vanessa, the former Mrs. Lord, has all but rejected her son. When Alistair would spend time at her place, she’d practically ignore her own kid, prioritizing whatever she wanted to do. Several days, Alistair was late to or completely missed school thanks to Vanessa’s ignorance.

That’s why Maxwell has taken nearly full custody now. Vanessa didn’t argue it. She was glad to have Alistair out of her hair. Besides, she resented Maxwell for endless reasons, usually unfounded. She wanted to see him struggle.

But Maxwell thrived. Alistair and his father are as close as can be. Maxwell now works a menial job, after the whole Dreamstone fiasco, but he’s managing to make ends meet. When they have enough money left over, he’ll take Alistair to the movies or buy him a new lego kit.

Maxwell hasn’t found love since Vanessa, but he thinks you might be the one for him. One could call him a hopeless romantic; his heart builds and breaks as easily as a wave on the shore. You sound so nurturing and lovely, so wonderful to the one Maxwell loves most. That’s partially why he scheduled the conference with you.

The other part was that Alistair is a budding genius in Maxwell’s eyes. He flies through thick books day in and day out, and Max wants to accommodate the skills in his son. He constantly tells him how proud of him he is, but he wants to make sure he can keep helping him learn.

On the day of the conference, Maxwell is nervous. Why is he nervous? He combs his closet several times to find one of the nice suits from his glory days, but decides it to be ridiculous. He’s not sure how much Alistair tells you about his family, but he’s sure you know he is no longer the television personality Max Lord. Instead, he settles for a dress shirt and pants, tossing on a light jacket over it. The fall air is turning crisp, especially in the evenings.

Doña Gloria from next door knocks on the door at promptly 7:00, and Alistair pops up to answer it. He loves the old woman, and wraps her in a big hug. Gloria walks inside the apartment, grinning at the sight of Maxwell’s outfit. “Ah, making a good impression on the boy’s teacher,” she nods in approval.

“Hoping to,” he nods and adjusts the suede jacket over his lapels, fidgeting with the zipper. “Alistair, why don’t you go find that game you wanted to play with Doña Gloria?”

The child runs off obediently and the woman straightens his collar for him. “Little Maxie has a crush,” she sings.

“Gloria,” he frowns as he messes with the cuffs. “I’ve never even met the woman.”

She gives a knowing smile. “But you know her. You know her through Alistair, all his stories. I’m sure she will love you, mijo.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he sighs and pats his pockets, checking for his wallet. “She’s Alistair’s teacher. I can’t just-“

“You can do whatever the hell you want, Mr. Lorenzano,” the woman chuckles and reassures him. “Go get her.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a conference, not a date,” he says as he walks towards the door.

“It can be both!” Is the last thing he hears before he shuts the door, making him laugh.

-

Conferences, as always, are a pain in the ass. You sit and make small talk with parents, discussing their child’s skills with their times table versus their writing proficiency, their standardized test scores and how they stack up.

As the night passes, you grow more frazzled. Your hair, neatly tucked back, falls out in strands, and your glasses seem to slide down your nose more and more often. Some parents verbally abuse you for their children’s poor scores on their science test. Others try to get to know you a little too personally. All part of a day’s work.

A hopeful smile dares to peek out as you read your schedule and arrange your sampling of Alistair’s works. You’re eager to meet his father, to meet the man Alistair so rarely talks about but clearly adores.

There’s a knock on your classroom door at 7:30 on the dot. Shoving your glasses up your nose one time, you hurry to the door and allow the man in. “Hi, nice to meet you, Mr. Lorenzano,” you tell him and shake his hand, leading him to your desk.

Something about him seems familiar. He’s very attractive, that’s something. He doesn’t have his son’s dark, nearly black hair, but rather a light brown with bits of blonde interjected throughout. He has his son’s deep brown eyes, and his very presence makes you smile. He looks put together, dressed similarly to other fathers you’ve seen tonight.

You tuck your skirt under you as you sit in your chair. The man’s voice is smooth and beautiful as he speaks. “It’s nice to meet you as well. Alistair talks endlessly about you at home.”

Smiling, you shuffle some of his papers. The man is distractingly handsome, you find as you scramble to grab Alistair’s math test. “Well, he’s a very special kid. I adore having him in my class, truly. Your son is going places, Mr. Lorenzano.”

“Please, Max,” he shakes his head, producing something from a pocket. “Oh, and… for you.”

The sight makes you nearly laugh, but instead you break into a grin. The man’s large hand holds a shiny red apple, perfectly shaped. “Thank you,” you laugh and set it on your desk. “You know, I have no idea where that silly custom comes from.”

“I should ask Alistair,” Maxwell chuckles, his face heating as he takes in the beauty of your smile. “He knows so much. It wouldn’t be a stretch for him to know that.”

Nodding, you hand over an assortment of Alistair’s schoolwork and artwork. “He really does. I appreciate having a fellow avid reader in my class. He’s so bright, it’s… wild, really. Do you or… Mrs. Lorenzano,” you say, treading lightly, “do anything supplementary that advances his learning?”

Max looks down at the papers. “Well, she isn’t Mrs. Lor- Lorenzano anymore,” he shakes his head, his eyes not meeting yours for a moment. He stumbles, nearly using his former business name of Lord. “But no. I have nearly full custody of Alistair, and he flies through books. It’s absurd,” the man laughs, his pride in his eyes as he looks at you. “I mean, neither of us were ever as smart as this. I don’t know where he got it from.”

You frown at that. “You seem very smart, Max. May I ask what you do for a living?”

His brow furrows. “Alistair hasn’t told you?”

You shake your head, adjusting your glasses. God, Maxwell wants to do that for you, push them up your nose or better yet, take them off and kiss you deeply. “I don’t push kids to talk about their home lives. Some don’t want to share,” you shrug.

“I wish I would’ve had a teacher like you in my day,” he chuckles sadly. “I... well, I work currently for a corporate office in Arlington. It’s nothing very exciting, or anything that requires skill.”

You shrug, smiling a little. “It must be an important job or they wouldn’t pay you to do it.”

His chuckle is a little more upbeat. “I suppose. I just… my family was very poor when I was a child. I don’t want Alistair to feel ashamed that I don’t make as much money as his other classmates. Tell me, he doesn’t seem very social. Is he…?”

You want to phrase it properly, so you stutter for a moment. “Well, to put it plainly, no. Alistair does not talk much with his classmates. He’s a very quiet boy, as I’m sure you know. It’s not that they ostracize him, but rather that he chooses to be alone. He’s always reading rather than playing soccer or whatever,” you shrug. “It’s most certainly not exclusion on the basis of… having less money.”

Maxwell’s shoulders relax a little. “Well, I’m glad. Honestly, I don’t mind that he’s quiet. I’m glad he’s learning.”

“I’d usually disagree, but I have to say the same,” you chuckle. “He’s a really good kid, Max. You should be proud to have him as a son. Don’t tell anyone, but he’s my favorite student.”

He’s absolutely beaming with pride. “That’s all I could ask for. Thank you.”

“Of course! How could I not love that kid?” you chuckle as you admire a drawing Alistair made of a scene from his favorite book. “Was that all you wanted to talk about?” You ask, unsure if he had more concerns.

Maxwell’s almost startled by the question. “Oh! Yes, I got sidetracked,” he chuckles, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He’s painfully beautiful, and his laugh makes you laugh in return. It’s safe to say you really like the Lorenzano family. “He just goes through book after book, it’s endless. Do you have any recommendations for continued reading? I want him to keep going like this, truly.”

Tapping a pen against your gradebook, you think on it for a moment. “I guess the best way would be positive reinforcement, but not reward. If you, say, incentivized it, he might see it as a chore to earn the money or toy or whatever.”

Maxwell nods as he listens, a small smile on his face as he listens to your voice and intellect. Yes, his theory earlier was correct. He does have a crush on you. “Naturally.”

“So, my recommended course of action would really just be praise and support. Tell him you’re proud of him. Offer to take him to the library to pick out some more. Those little things mean more to a kid than we can know.”

Max does know, actually. He knows because he was deprived of them as a child, because he tries to use them as often as he can so Alistair never feels the way he felt. “I can most definitely do that.”

“Great,” you nod, fidgeting with the stem of the apple in front of you. “If he ever wants to do more math or puzzles or such, the library has lots of great resources for that as well. I also have lots of worksheets I could send home with him.”

“If I can tear him away from that book,” Maxwell chuckles. “Do you have any favorites? You mentioned you read a lot.”

“Oh, god,” you laugh, and Maxwell is enchanted by the sound. “There are too many options! My favorite book of all time would probably have to be the Great Gatsby. I love the classics.”

Maxwell’s smile turns bittersweet. Jay Gatsby’s life reminds him far too much of his own for comfort now. Before, he’d call himself a Gatsby in reference to lavish parties and living large. Now, he feels like Gatsby dead in the water. “Wonderful book,” he nods. “F. Scott Fitzgerald is a literary mastermind.”

“Do you read too?” You ask, intrigued. His personality shows more and more and you’re desperate for even more of it.

He shakes his head. “Not as much as Alistair, I’m afraid, but when I have the time.”

You grin. “My plans for tonight are to go home and read with some takeout. No one to disturb me or anything. I’m very much a homebody, so it’s usually just me and my gradebook and my houseplants. Takeout is the most excitement I get. I’m looking forward to working through this book though; I’m currently reading Wilde.”

“Ah, what book?”

“Picture of Dorian Gray,” you smile and look down at your tote bag with the book tucked into the side. “If I have any brainpower left. Most of these conferences are energy-suckers.”

“How many do you have left?” He asks, curious.

“You’re the last of the night, actually,” you chuckle and cross your arms on the desk, looking over at him and silently hoping he reads your interest.

“The night you have planned sounds lovely, I must say,” Maxwell chuckles. “I do love takeout, but I know of a wonderful place near here. I… we could go get dinner, if you’d like.”

Tilting your head to the side, you scrunch your nose to push your glasses back up. “That sounds wonderful, Max. It’s nice to converse with someone who isn’t 9 years old for a while. And someone so interesting,” you openly flirt now that you can tell he’s picking up on your messages.

“Me? Hardly,” he shakes his head and laughs. “I’m sure you have much more fascinating stories than me.”

“I am a third grade teacher, Max,” you laugh. “If you want stories that involve boogers, the ever-present cooties, and long division, I’m your gal, but it hardly extends past that.”

“I guess we’ll just have to find out. Do you like Italian food?”

“I love it,” you grin. “Does that mean wine?”

“Always,” Maxwell says in a mockingly offended voice, as if you’d even dare to ask such a thing, with a look of disgust.

“Thank fucking god,” you laugh before clapping a hand over your mouth. “Oh shit. Oh-“ you wince as you try to cover your curse with another curse. “Sorry. When school hours are out, I can’t hold back any longer.”

“No need to,” he assures you. “A woman like you could do whatever she wants and I’d be happy to just be in her presence.”

“Mr. Lorenzano,” you tease. “This is a parent-teacher conference!”

“Then let’s head to dinner and continue this in a nonprofessional capacity, shall we?” He asks, standing and pushing back his rolling chair.

“That sounds great,” you smile. Alistair’s father sure is something. Yes, you certainly like the Lorenzano family.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

[mymedicine]

Alocasia

or, 7.5k words of blushy harry and sassy y/n

moodboard/inspo tag + my masterlist

sum - y/n doesn’t like people, but she likes harry—even though he keeps fucking this up

warnings - language, alcohol, mentions of sex (not explicit), lots of banter, excessive use of parentheses, umm... veganism?

notes - hiii! for once i don’t really have anything to say other than welcome, to a very fluffy and kind of chaotic one shot. hope you give her a chance and a reblog if you enjoy! <3

Upon moving into his charming downtown apartment, Harry was feeling a lot of things.

He was excited at the prospect of living there, of waking up in his cozy new bedroom, of flipping pancakes in the kitchen with a stunning view of the city skyline, and of lounging on his soft gray couch while watching reruns of Criminal Minds. He was also anxious, and a little annoyed. There were groceries to be bought, chores to be done, bills to be paid (Fuckin’ landlord was an ass for refusing to include utilities in the rent). The cabinets in the bathroom were a little creaky (Do I need some WD-40? Can I afford WD-40?!) He even had to walk up four flights of stairs to get to his door, a task which Harry was keen to count as his daily exercise.

Above all, Harry was lonely. Living alone was a blessing and a curse, he reckoned. He could lounge about without any clothes, dance in the kitchen to the sounds of Folklore (a guilty pleasure), and watch creepypasta videos on YouTube until three am (and consequently stay up til dawn, for fear of nightmares) without worrying about anyone but himself.

But after just two days in the new place, he was concerned that the cost of privacy may not be worth it. Loneliness and boredom weighed heavily on his conscience as he laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Not only did he live alone, but he also didn’t have any friends in the city yet. No one to see, nothing to do. Lost, he decided. No direction, no purpose…Only four walls and a bunch of empty cabinets.

And yet it wasn’t even social interaction he craved necessarily—it was purpose, company, and…perhaps some cuddles. He briefly considered the idea of a pet. Maybe a friendly little French bulldog to chase around and be responsible for? Or a fluffy Maine Coon kitty to scratch behind the ear and snuggle at night?

But the bills…the responsibility…The prudent adult deep within Harry knew he was hardly ready to support himself, let alone a helpless animal. He’d have to feed it and walk it and make sure it didn’t shit all over the floor—not to mention the landlord would raise hell if he found out.

Meanwhile, the soft, gentle, maybe a little naive man who dominated Harry’s conscience was craving a friend. Pets were a no for now, so what’s the next best thing? He grappled with the question…Surely, a person was the obvious answer. He wouldn’t mind a pretty body to warm his heart—or, at least, his bed.

Harry stretched his legs out over the arm of the couch—the only furniture he had at the moment aside from his mattress on the floor of the bedroom—and snuggled into his cozy corduroy blanket, craving warmth in the cold apartment. A rainbow cardigan adorned his chest today, draped over a plain white turtleneck that warmed his neck. He liked to keep it cold so he could be snuggly wrapped in his sweaters without sweating bullets. He dug around in the pocket of his cardigan for his phone, eager to receive affection from something other than his clothes.

In retrospect, Tinder had given Harry far more unfortunate encounters with other people (lots of younger girls just looking for a plug and toxic guys who left him on read) than pleasurable ones. But hindsight was always 20/20 and isolation had already planted the seed in his head.

He quickly examined his own profile. It consisted of two photos of him smirking softly (not too serious, but not too eager either), one with his sister and his mum (to show he’s a family man), and a group one with his mates (because sure, he was lonely, but he didn’t want people to know that). There were also one or two shirtless photos (thirst traps, according to Niall) that he’d sprinkled in between the tame ones even though it made him feel kind of icky. Weighing the odds, he’d decided that desperation for matches outweighed the cringey-ness of it all.

His very last photo was the only one where he felt like himself. He was smiling wide in it, wearing a baby blue sweater with a little chick popping out of its egg on the front that Mitch had teased him for back home. His bio, too, showcased his wholesome values.

Harry’s eyes widened as he observed on the first person he saw upon opening the home page—Y/N. She only had two photos—a shot of her perched on a car hood and smiling wide and one far away one with her figure drowning in a sea of…plants. Fittingly, her bio read: “I love plants and I hate people.”

She was beautiful and every bit as anti-social as himself. It was perfect.

Harry laughed softly to himself and swiped right immediately. He was giddy when the familiar It’s a match! popped up on the screen immediately. His thumbs hovered over the keypad, brow furrowed as he frowned at the screen. Matching was one thing, but actually starting a conversation was another entirely.

Ultimately, he decided honesty was the best policy:

you had me at ‘i hate people’ :D

Now what? Matching was one thing, starting a conversation was another, but having a whole conversation was another thing entirely. He hated the waiting, especially when he had absolutely nothing to busy himself with in the mean time, aside from fiddling with his fingers and doing laps around his living room.

Seven minutes later (not that he’s counting), a ding came through on his phone.

y/n: you had me at ‘treat people with kindness,’ mon petit :)

Harry smiled wide. He was pleased she’d noticed not only his bio, but also the sweater he was wearing in his favorite photo of himself. It was the perfect response from a perfect girl.

harry: so what do you do?

y/n: i work at a plant shop on Main

Figures, he thought. He imagined her carrying a watering pitcher, tending to a plant with gentle fingers. She’d be surrounded by them like she was in the photo on her profile, green on all sides. God, he thought. What a beautiful scene with a beautiful star.

harry: wanna go for drinks tonight and talk about plants?

y/n: sure ;)

Nightfall brought a chill to the air that made Harry desperately want to curl up into his warm bed and snuggle into his pillow. But here he was, shuffling his feet outside the crowded bar and absently wearing another tiny hole in the sleeve of his striped sweater. It was a decent bar in town. They didn’t water down the drinks and they kept the lights dim so she wouldn’t have to see him flushed beet red after one drink. That is, if she would show up at all.

“Hey, you’re Harry?”

He turned quickly toward the sound of the voice, and there she was. And holy shit, he thought. That is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her two profile photos did not even begin to do her justice. The idea of a mere photo on a screen couldn’t even compare to the real thing. He would never be keen to look at a photo again, he reckoned. It wouldn’t make his heart bloom and flutter like the vision of her in front of him did. Was this love at first sight?

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, and not because the chilly night, “Y/N, right?”

Harry didn’t think he really believed in love—certainly not love at first sight, but this girl was throwing him into another world. Before, he couldn’t seem to stand still, but her presence in front him planted his feet firmly on the ground.

“Yep, that’s me!” She smiled wide, speaking cooly and confidently. It was obvious she knew how beautiful she was and, even more evident, how enamored Harry already was with her.

“I—you’re absolutely beautiful,” The words slipped out of his lips before he could catch them—not that he was really making any effort to hide his attraction for her. Still, he enjoyed the way her eyes brightened and teeth gently nibbled at her bottom lip in response to the compliment

And suddenly, the idea of merely kissing her soft flesh, tickling her sweet bud, and ultimately burying himself inside her tonight didn’t seem like enough. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to smell her hair and hear her laugh. He wanted to make her pancakes in the morning and kiss her lips, sweetened lightly with maple syrup. He wanted to love her.

No, he couldn’t possibly ruin his chance with a girl like this by fucking her on the couch in his cold, lonely apartment, never to see or hear from her again.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Of course.”

One hour and four and a half drinks later, (whiskey cokes for Y/N, vodka crans for Harry) the cramped bar was hot and they were floating on air. He’d learned that she worked at Main Street Nursery, usually by herself, sometimes with her cousin who owned the place. She was an avid vegan, but only because she hated meat and dairy made her sick. She’d learned that Harry was new in town and lived only a block away from Main. Also, Y/N managed to learn that Harry had no friends here and was very lonely in his new apartment, but only after his third vodka cran when the already weak filter in his throat began to crumble and embarrassing things spewed out of his lips like a spout.

“Let’s dance, H.” Y/N requested, gently caressing his bicep from where she sat beside him.

Oh god. No amount of alcohol would let him embarrass himself like that. “I don’t really… uh—“

But Y/N was having none of that. She thrust his half empty glass in his face, eyebrows raised in a pointed look. “Come on, baby!”

He hesitated for only a moment. Her fingers were soft and warm and distracting against his arm and it was very dark in the crowded bar, but he could easily see her bright eyes and the mischief dancing around in them. Somehow, she looked just as beautiful after putting away five whiskey cokes. Ah fuck. How could he possibly say no to her?

Harry tipped the glass against his lips, downed the bitter beverage, and finally let her tug him to the middle of the room.

A few people were dancing raunchily to the loud music, and the combination of the alcohol and the darkness and Y/N’s effortless beauty gave Harry the confidence to join them. He placed his hands gingerly around her waist, nearly flinching at the warm feeling of her skin against his. Y/N flashed him a blissful, slightly drunken grin and squeezed his bicep more firmly, relaxing in his hold.

Y/N led them in a giggly dance, letting her hands wander Harry’s body and ultimately settle around his neck. Brain foggy with an alcohol induced haze, she swayed her hips against his.

Minutes turned into an hour or so and Y/N had grown quite comfortable in the circle of Harry’s arms, fronts flushed together impossibly close.

“Wanna get out of here?” Her whisper in the shell of his ear was alluring, seductive, sweet, and almost irresistible. But Harry was on a mission—one that only included seeing her again after tonight and, ultimately, making her his. Five vodka crans weren’t quite enough to outweigh his desire for something more. No, this plan didn’t include fucking her. (At least, not tonight).

“Um, I think we should…er—slow down…”

“You don’t...you don’t wanna hookup?” She looked up at him with something like disappointment (or maybe anxiety? insecurity? He wasn’t sure) in her eyes.

“No, it’s just… I—I wanted to get to know you?”

Y/N subtly stepped away from him, just an inch or so, but more than enough for him to notice and consequently panic. “Oh um, It’s okay...I just thought—well, I didn’t think we’d really be getting to know each other…”

Ouch. She obviously was not on the same page as he was with the whole I WANT TO LOVE YOU thing he had going on at the moment. The alcohol thickened his skin a little, easing the sting of her words.

“But if I’m like...not pretty enough or nice enough I—uh...” she was rambling a little—and oh god, she must be wasted if she’s questioning her beauty. Harry’s heart hurt. How could she not see that she was perfect inside and out?

“No, Y/N! You’re perfect…it’s just—“

“I get it, um...”

“I’m sorry, you don’t understand!

“I understand, Harry…I guess I’ll just—go home now.”

Well, fuck. In an effort to prolong his time with her, he’d managed to cut it short and blow his shot to see her again at all. He kicked himself for hoping. Hope for the best, expect the worst, he reminded himself. He was just fine at the hoping part, but the disappointment in the aftermath bit even deeper than his desperate loneliness.

Back to square one.

I’m going for a plant…if Y/N happens to be there then…Harry thought as he approached Main Street, then Y/N will be there. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He tugged nervously at the sleeves of his sweater—this one white with a “my life is crap” graphic that he found quite funny—wearing another tiny hole in the fabric. He absently regretted not taking a shot or two before impulsively jogging across the block to the plant shop, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. I’m just here to get a plant.

Truthfully, he didn’t know shit about plants, but how hard could it be? Surely, all it took was a little water and a sunny spot. Optimistic, he wandered into the cute little shop. Upon entering, he found it wasn’t really indoors at all—just four walls of greenery with only a few wooden beams as a ceiling, allowing rays of mid-morning sunshine to illuminate the space quite beautifully. Harry couldn’t help but notice how one such ray shone directly on the most beautiful creature in the shop.

The scene was even more delightful than he’d imagined. She looked ethereal doing even the most mundane tasks, he thought. The way her skin glowed in the sunlight in front of a backdrop of lush greenery? Heavenly. He took a few more moments to absently admire her as she lifted a watering can above her head with skilled hands, squinting at the sun while reaching up to water a large, leafy looking plant that hung from one of the beams.

The plant was hanging just low enough to block her view of Harry, so when he gently cleared his throat to call her name, she leaped backward. A loud thud rang out and suddenly, the watering can was no longer grasped between her fingers and her pale pink apron was stained crimson—completely drenched.

“Oh my god!” they both screeched at the same time.

Harry felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he ran over to her. “I’m so sorry angel,” he said, picking up the now leaking can from the floor. “I really didn’t mean to scare you, oh my god, are you okay?!”

She looked a mess, quite honestly. But even covered in water and sprawled out on the concrete floor, she was cute to him, like a little bud sprouting out of the pot. She looked up at him with a contemptuous stare.

“Harry!” She cried from the floor, “What are you doing?”

While he did appreciate how adorable she looked, Harry was horrified. He hadn’t known her long, but he’d never heard her stutter or seen her blush like that. Even in their brief text exchanges and one night together, she’d always seemed so confident, so effortlessly graceful and calm. “I’m so sorry love, I really didn’t mean to—“

“Why are you here?”

“I-I just...I just wanted a plant and—and… I know you love them, and I thought there wouldn’t be anywhere better to go...”

Y/N’s expression softened as he rambled. “Okay, well, feel free to look around,” She stumbled to her feet, murmuring as she went. She wiped her hands on her soaked apron, trying to clean them but actually just spreading the wetness. “And um…Let me know if you need anything.”

She pressed a tight lipped grin on and her voice went a tinge too high pitched. She was clearly putting herself in customer service mode, but Harry caught a playful glint behind her bright eyes.

Harry flushed red and turned away from her, kicking himself for being so clumsy. He craned his head around the shop, feeling hopelessly overwhelmed. He wanted to ask her for help or at least a gentle push in right direction, but he figured he’d already bothered her enough.

Even with his back to her, Y/N’s presence was distracting. He could hear her feet shuffling around softly, the light clang of the metal watering can against the counter, even the pinging sound from her phone as he wandered the store.

Harry made a few aimless circles around before particular plant caught his eye. It was a modest looking plant, no where near as big as some of the hanging vines and rubber trees that littered the store. It had large, dark green leaves with jagged looking edges and sat pretty in a terra cotta pot near the front of the store.

He decided this plant would suit his needs perfectly (what are those needs again? He asked himself, company? responsibility?). He ultimately ignored his thoughts and the fact that he wasn’t even himself clear on what he wanted and picked up the plant in both arms. He shivered upon realizing that Y/N was probably watching him the whole time as he brought the plant to the counter where she was waiting. Watching him struggle and make a fool out of himself, that is.

“Did you find everything okay?” she asked cordially.

Harry nodded stiffly, unsure what to say. “Mmhm.”

“Have you got others?” Y/N continued making conversation while punching some numbers into the cash register, smiling and avoiding his gaze.

Harry looked up at the same time she looked away from the register. He was a little startled by her question, not expecting her to actually speak to him after what he’d done earlier. “Uh, no. I just moved here, remember?”

“Oh, right—well, you know this is an alocasia?” she said it very gently, with a patient smile. He didn’t like that she was avoiding his gaze before, but now that she was staring at him unwaveringly, he felt like he was under a microscope. Heat rose is Harry’s cheeks. Did the name of the plant matter?

“Uh, yeah? I mean, uh—I had a few back in my old place…” Why Harry? Why is your first instinct to lie?

“So you know what to do with this kind of plant?’

“Um…yeah?” He stammered, speech as rushed and clumsy as the beating of his heart. His sweaty palms further confirmed the obvious—Y/N made him nervous. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was perfect. He felt desperately out of place in front of her here. How could he possibly impress her? After he’d already fucked up more than once?

“I, well—nevermind,” Y/N replied finally, shaking her head. She was still smiling, but now he felt like she was giggling to herself because she knew something he didn’t.

“Did you want to add some Miracle Potion to your purchase today?” she asked, back in customer service mode once again.

Harry did not know what the fuck Miracle Potion was, but it sounded like a rehearsed line she was required to say during every transaction. She was looking at him so pointedly though, and the brightness of her eyes was distracting. How could he say no when she was looking at him like that?

“Yeah, why not.”

And seeing her beam at him with that lovely smile was so worth the extra eight dollars.

Harry cradled his new plant—Franklin, he’d decided—in both arms, awkwardly body-slamming his apartment door to get it open without his hands. First order of business after setting Franklin down on the coffee table was to quench his thirst. He still hadn’t gone on a real grocery trip for the new place, so he’s been living off of trail mix and kombucha. Harry craved kombucha like plants craved water.

Which brought him to the second order of business: research. He sat on the couch with his trail mix, kombucha, and laptop, quickly opening up a search for “alocasia plant care”

And suddenly Y/N’s behavior made sense.

Of course, of every plant he could have chosen at random, Harry’d gone for one of the most difficult, demanding, and definitely-not-for-beginners house plants in the shop.

He had a funny feeling it wasn’t the last time his optimism would get him in trouble.

Harry was frustrated.

It’d been less than twenty four hours since he became a father, and his once green-leafed baby was already browning at the edges. He frowned, peering at Franklin’s crisp leaves as he meticulously sprayed the Miracle Potion into the soil. The once dry dirt was starting to look a little better, but—holy shit!

Harry leaped away from the table, dropping the spray and nearly knocking himself onto his ass. His eyes were wide and his heart was pounding. He felt betrayed and horrified. Y/N never mentioned that there’d be bugs crawling in the soil! But Harry could not unsee the tiny worm-ish looking guy slithering up from the depths of the pot and onto the base of Franklin’s stem.

This was a mistake. A huge mistake. Who has he kidding?

He couldn’t help himself. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing the plant shop’s number without a second thought.

“Hello, you’ve reached Main Street Nursery! We’re not available right now, please leave a message and we’ll call back as soon as possible.”

“Y/N! S’Harry and, oh my god there’s a bug in Franklin! I was sprayin’ the potion stuff on the soil like ya said to but then there was a big worm thing and I dunno what to do now? I’m scared Y/N, why didn’t ya tell me there’d be bugs?! Holy shit, Franklin’s gonna die, what the fu—“

A beep interrupted his ramblings, which Harry would later be grateful for. He was always a sort of ramble-y type, but adding a pretty girl and a bug-induced panic was more than enough to make him insufferably talkative.

He begrudgingly opened the Tinder app, his only other means of communicating with her. He typed out a lengthy message with rapid fingers, explaining the bug situation in between a series of colorful emojis.

thought you knew what you were doing? Y/N’s reply came in three and a half minutes later.

harry: I lied :(

(No use in lying now).

y/n: that’s alright bub. just relax, I’ll bring you some bug stickers

Bug stickers? What the fuck? He’d already made a fool of himself, so he might as well ask, he reasoned.

harry: why would I want a bug sticker?!!

y/n: just send me your address

He did as she asked, blushing profusely at the thought of her being in his apartment. Oh shit, he realized. She’s gonna be in my apartment. Realistically, he knew she probably wouldn’t even come past the front door. She’d just give him the damn stickers and then go off to whatever better things she had to do. But if Harry has any dominant personality trait, it’s optimism.

So he quickly started to tidy the living space—careful to avoid the coffee table where Franklin and his new worm-ish adversary sat. The plant aside, it’s a cute little place that screamed an unemployed single man lives here. Once the kombucha bottles and gum wrappers are thrown out, he puts way too much effort into swiping the trail mix crumbs off the couch and carefully arranging a throw blanket across the arm of it—she won’t even be coming near the couch, Harry, chill out.

When would she be coming? She hadn’t given him a time. She’d asked for his address…did that mean she was coming immediately? Maybe she’d asked for it to come by later? Or tomorrow?—

A loud knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts.

He should have expected this. Even after only meeting twice, he should’ve known she’d barge right into his living room, skirting right past him to find Franklin. The first thing he learned about her was that she owed plants and hated people.

“Um, hello love,” he said awkwardly, trailing behind her. “Thanks for coming over.”

Y/N looked up from where she was examining the plant’s leaves as if she’d just noticed him lurking behind her (very on brand for her, Harry noted to himself). He was taken with her sudden eye contact. Her eyes had that same sparkly glow as they did in the shop—they got that way when she talked about her veganism and her cousin and her plants.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, mister Harry Styles. You’re a liar.” she said plainly. She was frowning at him (Is that a playful frown? He hoped so) “You’re a liar and it almost cost Franklin’s life.”

Harry was, once again, horrified. If he hadn’t proper fucked it up the first two times they met, he’d surely done it now. Y/N loved plants more than she loved breathing, and he’d almost killed one. And he lied to her! Fuck you’re such an idiot Harry...get it together.

Y/N must’ve seen his turmoil, (how could she not? He always did wear his heart on his sleeve) for she cracked a happy grin and smacked him playfully on the arm. “I’m just kidding Harry, for gods sake!”

“But...but the plant—“

“—will be fine.”

“And the...the bug?”

Y/N turned back to the plant and squinted into the soil. She put her hands on her hips over the fabric of her wide pants (Palazzo? Harry wondered absently. They were like those gypsy looking pants that looked super comfy—like, one step above pajamas...and damn where could I get some of those?)

“Is the bug on my ass, H?”

“W-what?” He replied, snapping out of his reverie with wide eyes. No! He blubbered, tearing his eyes away from the yellow fabric to her face, where her lips were pursed and her eyebrows were raised accusingly. He didn’t even mean to be staring at her ass (though it did look cute and peachy in the palazzo pants, he couldn’t help but notice now), but, feeling caught, he blushed sheepishly anyway.

She dropped the accusatory glare, replacing it with a wide smile. “Only joking,” she interrupted his ramblings. “Still reckon you were lyin’ about the bug jus’ to get me over here, though.”

Harry sighed exasperatedly, heart racing as he meandered around the couch toward the table where she was leaning. She kept him on his toes and it was as exhausting as it was enticing.

He got right up behind her and peered over her shoulder at the soil. “There!” He cried, almost having another heart attack at the sight of the little black bug. In a rushed attempt to show her the worm so she could get rid of it, he’d probably put himself way closer to her than necessary. He could feel the fabric of her long pants brushing his toes and her sharp breath hitch against his chest.

“Oh Harry,” she laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of his apartment like beams of light. Looking away from the danger, he focused his attention on her instead. He couldn’t help but notice how her hair smelled like flowers and freshly mowed grass and ...honey? Something sweet and enticing and natural, like the earth. Like a sprawling meadow or rose garden or—

He’d been effectively distracted by her that he’d almost forgot the reason for his fear, the reason she was even here. That is, until the little bugger was out of the soil and crawling on her finger.

Harry screeched and leaped backward, and this time, he did fall on his ass. Right in front of the couch he’d cleaned for her while she giggled profusely. The gentle melody of her laughter and sweet little coos at the bug softened the sting of embarrassment—a little.

“Aw he’s so cute!” She prodded her other finger at the creature, which really was no bigger than her fingernail, but horrified Harry anyways. “Can’t believe Harry wanted me to come and kill you, sweet little thing.”

He was once again struck by how gentle and nurturing and sickened-sweet she got with plants and animals. Meanwhile she laughed at him and teased him ruthlessly for his dramatics.

“Here,” she said “Hold him.”

She thrust her finger into his hands from where she stood above him. Harry flinched away, but couldn’t move far enough from where he sat with his legs folded and feet planted on the ground. The worm fell into his palm. The tiny impact of it on his skin ignited an explosion of fear through him.

A millisecond passed and it crawled through the hole in the wrist of his sweater, causing his panic to quadruple.

He screamed out loud while Y/N continued laughing at him. “AH!” Harry screamed and flapped his wrists violently, throwing himself against the couch with wide eyes as he felt the horrible tickling of the creature crawling on his skin.

“Stop! Stop Harry, let me!” Y/N stepped closer, ducking between his outstretched legs. She shielded her face with one hand and desperately groped around for Harry’s wrist with the other. Finally, he paused to breathe and Y/N caught his arm in both of hers.

She wrestled his arm to still and calmly plucked the creature from his skin. “Thank God,” she sighed dramatically in relief, holding it on her finger between them. “The little fighter survived your temper tantrum!”

“No!” Harry cried, now shielding his own face from the wrath of the worm.

He watched her get up and drop the bug back into Franklin’s soil, all the while laughing at him.

“You’re such a baby, Harry,” she cooed as she turned back to where he was still sat on the floor, “And no wonder you’re so cold in here. You’ve got holes all in your sweater!”

“I’ve got holes in all my sweaters. My mum used to fix them f’me.” He frowned, missing her and his friends suddenly. Living alone was hard.

“You’re hopeless,” Y/N shook her head as she bent down to sit on the coffee table next to Franklin and sent him endeared smile. “I could fix them for you?”

Harry reeled back and blushed, “You—you could do that for me?”

Yes, living alone was hard and lonely and boring. Harry had been shamefully making excuses to see her for several days now, and yet he was completely oblivious to her doing the exact same thing.

“Sure! Come over tomorrow and bring all your sweaters.”

Harry saw absolutely no reason to object. He could never say no to her, anyways. “Okay, then.”

“In the meantime, take these…” She reached into her pocket and fished out four yellow squares of what looked like...tape?

“These are bug stickers,” she explained. “You tape them around Franklin’s stem and it’ll catch the gnats and aphids and stuff. Won’t kill your new little friend though.”

Despite her teasing tone and his lingering fear, Harry couldn’t help but smile at her while she demonstrated how to tape the bug sticker on. He’d deal with all the goddamn bugs in the world if it meant she’d be pleased with him.

She finished taping it on and turned back to him with an adorable little flourish, as if to say ta-da!

“Can I offer you some kombucha for your trouble?” Harry suddenly blurted.

What the fuck Harry? Who the fuck says ‘can I offer you—‘

“Ew, no!” She interrupted his self-loathing, face twisting in disgust, “Kombucha tastes like dish soap.”

Hurt, Harry reeled back again and a shocked expression graced his face, “You don’t like kombucha?! Don’t vegans like, live for that shit?!”

“This vegan has taste,” she replied with a snarky smirk. “And besides, I’ve got to get back to the shop for work like, now.”

“Oh, okay no problem.” Harry stuttered, “Thanks again.”

“Sure thing!”

And as quickly as she’d busted in, she was gone, leaving the apartment as cold and lonely as ever. Harry frowned, feeling as if he’d blown it once again. No ‘see you tomorrow’ or ‘thanks for having me.’ Chance after chance and still he made a fool out of himself. She hadn’t even told him where she lived! Maybe the offer to come over and get his sweaters fixed had been a pity invite and she actually wanted nothing to do with him ever again. The thought made his stomach churn. Where was his customary optimism when he needed it?

Grumbling, he grabbed a fresh kombucha from the fridge, wishing it was something stronger.

Franklin and his little worm friend’s (Harry didn’t think the bugger deserved a sweet name like the alocasia did—it was still a disgusting creature that made his skin crawl) company did little to satiate the aching loneliness he was feeling throughout the following day.

Finally, a message came through his phone from an unknown number.

unknown: hey harry, it’s y/n! did you still want to come over today?

harry: howd you get my number

Even through a screen, Harry managed to blurt out the first thing that popped into his head. Fuck. Shit. She’s gonna think he’s avoiding the question! He rapidly began composing a second message, but the three little dots appeared and interrupted his flying thumbs.

y/n: your message on the answering machine at work.

by the way, that was hilarious

harry: right, well. sorry for that

and yes, id love to come over.

y/n: no worries, i saved it to listen to when i need a laugh.

haha cool here’s my address

harry: should i bring food or wine or something?

A new wave of anxiety washed over him as he looked at the address she’d sent. Now what? What would they do? Would he just drop off his sweaters and leave? Or would she invite him in? What would he say then?

y/n: just bring yourself and your sweaters, mon petit!

Harry was speechless. Much like the shop she worked at, Y/N’s apartment could rival an actual jungle. Greenery of all different shapes and shades and sizes lined the walls, and while they had the exact same floor plan, it was an entirely different world than the one Harry was living in.

Y/N, meanwhile, effortlessly sauntered deeper into her space. She looked like she belonged there, obviously, but Harry felt like a fish out of water.

“They won’t bite, you know,” Y/N giggled, noticing his apprehension. She was watching him patiently with something like fondness in her eyes. Harry felt her careful gaze on him, but the magnificent green scene around him claimed his attention—but not for long.

Gently, Y/N took his fingers between hers and pulled him deeper into her space. Harry stumbled over his feet, craning his head to look at the plants hanging from the ceiling. How the hell did she even water those?

Y/N couldn’t help but smile. He looked adorable, like a child at Disneyland. She swore his eyes were actually twinkling as the greenery in the room made the color pop against his skin even more than usual.

“This is…incredible,” He said, finally turning back to meet her eyes with his own. “You’re incredible.” He set down his bag of sweaters on the floor by his feet. They could certainly wait.

Something about the praise and the way he was looking at her like she hung the moon was making Y/N absolutely swoon for the man. It was impossible not to notice how much he adored her. He looked at her the same way she looked at Delilah, at all the things she loved. Things. She wasn’t sure she’d ever actually loved a person before. But this man with the holes in his sweaters and the permanent flush in his cheeks was planting himself deep in her heart.

But she’d never let him see that.

“…I make lots of my clothes myself…” She was talking about how she learned to sew from where she was sitting on her couch. Harry noticed that she’d arranged her living room differently than he had. While he had a single gray couch in the middle of the room, her sofa was against the window, inviting the evening sunset to gently warm the pale pink cushions.

“Did ya make those pants you were wearing the other day?” He asked with genuine curiosity, continuing to poke around the plants and knitted blankets and woven fruit baskets that littered the entire space.

Harry turned to face her just in time to catch her flashing a knowing smile. “Yes. Should I make a pair for you as well?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m sure your ass will look great in them, too.”

“Ah—shut up!” Harry laughed, fiddling with the leaves of one of her hanging plants. He recognized this one.

An easy smile still graced his lips as he murmured “It’s a philodendron,” half to her and half to himself. Now that some of the extensive plant research he’d been doing over the past few days had indeed stuck, it was easy for him to identify by its telltale heart shaped leaves.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up, “That’s right,” she said, sounding impressed. “She’s called Delilah.”

Harry hummed, unable to focus on words when she was giving him her full attention like that.

“She’d be cute next to Franklin, don’t ya think?” She continued, tiptoeing closer to him. She stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at the plant much like she’d done to Franklin a few days earlier. The fabric of his brown sweater was soft against her fingers as she wrapped her arms around him. Harry tensed. He had longed to do the same thing to her when their positions had been reversed a few days ago, but chickened out. But as always, Y/N’s actions were confident and smooth. The thought of her face against his knit-clad back and the feeling of her soft hands around his middle made his head spin.

Yes, he thought, she’s cute next to everything. She’s fucking adorable…

And again, Harry was struck with the thought that he should have seen this coming. It was such a Y/N move—the way she confidently pressed on his shoulders to sit him on the couch and proceeded to smoothly kneel over his thighs. His heart raced as she sank to his eye level, straddling his lap.

“You’ve got pretty eyes,” Harry said almost absently, as if lost in them. Y/N looked kind of surprised that the words came out of his mouth. She’s sort of confused by him, by the way he makes her feel. He had this nervous, chaotic energy surrounding him, as if his mind was going a mile a minute at all times. It didn’t make any difference to him though—a racing heart didn’t stop him from enjoying the feeling of the insides of her thighs against his.

Y/N suddenly grabbed one of his flushed cheeks in her palm and turned his face to hers, letting him get a good look at her eyes. “Think so?” She grinned with a hint of her customary cockiness.

Harry nodded in response to the playful question, caught up in her smirk. He reckoned it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Once again, she proved him wrong when she licked her lip. She studied him seductively while his own eyes, of course, flicked down to where her tongue was swiping over her lips. Her tongue was pillowy, gentle, and…distracting…In the next instant, she’d pulled his face to hers and met his lips with her own.

Despite having been mentally begging for her to kiss him since the moment they’d met, he was still a little caught off guard. Quickly, he began to relish in the feeling of her warm hand holding his cheek and soft lips pressing tenderly on his. He kissed her back gently, but with urgency—as if he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He let his hands wander slowly from her knees up her thighs, her hips, settling comfortably on her waist. His heart skipped a beat when she pulled back a millimeter.

“Is this okay?” Harry let out a concerned whisper.

Y/N smiled effortlessly and nodded. Of course it was okay, it was better than okay.

“Thought I’d proper fucked up my chance with you ages ago,” he murmured against her lips. Now that he’d gotten a taste of her sweet lips, he was truly a fucking goner.

“I thought so too, frankly,” she laughed fondly at him, “But you reeled me in with your charm and wit...” She shook her head and furrowed her brows sarcastically, “...Your true gift for horticulture, your brilliant sewing skills, your excellent taste in beverages...” she continued lecturing him in between sweet pecks on the lips.

Harry giggled at her mock-compliments, tugging her impossibly closer by the waist. She relaxed her chest into his and easily wrapped her own arms around his neck.

“You’re an absolute pest you know?” Harry teased her, confidence growing as she caressed his skin, “I oughta get a buncha those damn bug stickers to catch you!”

“You sure about that?” She smiled bigger, eyes wide and innocent as sat back on his legs. She continued to feed him sweet words as she trailed her fingers down his sweater, the mock compliments melting into sincere ones. Harry’s own smile grew as she mumbled how she adored his soft hands and blushy cheeks and gentle disposition…

Her words were innocent, but her fingers began tracking a sinful course downward, and he twitched in his sweatpants as she cheekily palmed him through the fabric. He was putty in her hands, reduced to a pile of mush by her eyes that twinkled with playful innocence and mischief and unmistakeable lust. The soft hands and gentle, innocent praises falling from her lips were making his cock bloat and head spin. Just as he was getting into it—moaning and whimpering for her to please don’t stop…she shoved her arms between his body and the couch cushion and delivered a firm squeeze to his ass.

“That’s for calling me a pest, you pest!”

She roared with laughter and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight to her chest.

Harry’s desperate, high pitched whine quickly melted into joyous laughter. He couldn’t help it—she was so lovely and beautiful and playful and cheeky and of course, he should’ve seen a stunt like this coming. She was a pest indeed, but Harry had already decided to love her. Perhaps decided wasn’t the word—no, his love for her sprouted and grew like a strong and beautiful vine holding them together.

“Now how about I make you come for real and then fix the holes in those sweaters like you fixed the holes in my heart?”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

thank you for reading <3

talk to me about harry and y/n and franklin and delilah!

[sukiglycerin]

starless fairy tales || keigo takami, katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: keigo takami (hawks) x reader x katsuki bakugou (gender neutral!)

* genre: it’s a sandwich: angst on the top, fluff in the middle, and angst at the end :) not fantasy DLKFSF IM SORRY

* words: 5.2k, somehow

* warnings: angsty, reader is wary of hawks at first, tokyo skytree!! so don’t read if you’re terribly afraid of heights, a reference to blood for a small metaphor, a reference to the league of villains ;P, cliffhanger ending that i’m not sure i’ll resolve

* original request from @bien-sur: hey, saw you wanted requests and I read through some of your work, really loved the Hawks one shot!! i’m a sucker for enemies who make out. i’m feeling angsty so uh maybe, if you want, a bakugo one-shot where he kind of uh cheats on the reader...? or maybe just hurts her feelings very badly? maybe the reader feels numb for a while but is comforted by Keigo, and the reader realizes they deserve better? so sorry if this is out of your comfort zone or it’s dark content(?) anyways I like your writing so i’ll read a few more of your works before going to bed :)) thank you, i appreciate u taking the time to do requests regardless of whether you do mine :)

* a/n: ENEMIES TO LOVERS IS SUPERIOR!! i was so excited to write an enemies piece with hawks. this showcases the soft, kind side of hawks so i hope you enjoy it !! thank you sooo much for being so kind in your request! this request is completely fine. i added much more plot than i’d expected, and learned sooo much about tokyo skytree. i couldn’t do infidelity because it hurts me too much and i love bakugou too much. i tried to keep the angst.,., but happy birb..,., this might become a multi-chap fic, as i do have a plot jumbled in my head because of the cliffhanger, and i’d like to develop more aspects of your request! for now, it’s up to your interpretation! biggest thing i got out of this: i now really, really want to go to tokyo skytree.

* synopsis: you had a fairy tale love with bakugou until your prince became the villain for vague reasons. in a moment of serendipity, you find a new prince, hawks, who just might take you high enough to reach the stars you’d so longed for. sometimes your dreams are only a train ride and a couple elevator trips away.

love was like a fairy tale. at least, that’s what you’d believed. love, with its ornate leather cover and soft golden embellishments. the pages would be worn but so cherished; the black ink printed in a pretty font, telling of charming words and whispered promises under the shining moonlight and twinkling stars. it was supposed to be your security, a castle hidden in the lush forest away from the horrors of the world. your castle would hold you and bakugou for an eternity, kept away in the pages of a pretty love story. 

alas, even the strongest of castles fall, and the most beautiful of forests mangle. yours just happened to be a bit quicker. contrary to the illusion bakugou had painted in your fairy tale, your castle was not of stone nor brick nor iron. it was not of anything but sand, waiting for its turn to be washed away by the sea. your castle slipped through your fingers; the once elaborate stronghold now swept into the depths of the cerulean sea. what had once been painted seashells of wondrous hues and crystals that illuminated the night were now pebbles and corroded versions of things that had once been. it had slipped through your fingers so easily without a passing thought; now here you were, in your deserted kingdom, playing the fool. 

like the sand past your fingers, love had once come easy for you and bakugou. it was always there, drifting in the air as you walked or swirling above your heads while you bickered. love was supposed to be easy, like how your hand just fit in bakugou's as if sculpted after many lives with him. love was supposed to be easy, like how bakugou aced his tests in school and nonchalantly taught you math so you wouldn't have to attend cram school. love was supposed to be easy, like how it had been for forever with bakugou. but your fairy tale was now coming to a close, velvet curtains falling and pages turning to dust. 

you wondered if there were any fairy tales on the shelves of books bakugou had. contrary to popular belief at ua, bakugou was an avid reader. it was clear by the shelves that lined the wall in his dorm and the stacks of unread books on his nightstand. you never touched them, though bakugou had said you were free to pick them up whenever you wanted. the only time you’d touched a book from his bookshelf was when he pushed a book of yosano akiko’s to you. 

the colored spines of the books on his shelf in your shared apartment all blurred like paint on a palette as you stared at them, bakugou’s voice becoming a fading afterthought.

“y/n? y/n, please…” the voice which had so held you in its tight warmth went cold and unfamiliar. a light flickered out in your castle, and so started the crumbling.

“say…” you started, your throat clogged with disbelief, “it again.”

“please, don’t make me…” his voice trailed off. you could feel his deep scarlet eyes trained on you. “i just…. i’m not in love with you anymore, y/n.” his voice cracked. “you’ve got to understand. please.”

your hand trembled in your lap, your vision shifting out of focus like a faulty camera. 

“i tried to feel something, i really did. but…. i can’t.”

“how- how long?” your voice shook.

he paused. “a month… or two, by now?” he reached out to take your hand in his, but it no longer felt right. it was as if his hand was no longer yours to hold. you tensed, moving your hand away.

a light went out in his eyes as he understood and receded his hand. a tower fell in your castle.

“okay,” you said, turning away from him. tears dripped down your face silently and you quickly wiped them away with your sleeve. you stood up from the couch. “i’ll get my things,” you hollowly said, walking toward your shared room with him.

“you don’t need to,” bakugou said. the voice emitted from his throat was no longer his, but the shadow of a stranger’s. “not this fast, at least. don’t force yourself.”

“what makes you say that?” you snapped a bit too harshly. “sorry,” you added quietly.

packing your things was a numbing process. you left the photos of him and you on his nightstand, on top of his pile of unread books. you shoved it all in a backpack you had lying around; your clothes, your phone, your books. you took one last glance around the room and left. bakugou was still sitting on the couch wordlessly, not bothering to say farewell to you as you opened the door and walked out. not that you would’ve responded anyway. 

you realized you may have made a miscalculation as you stood cluelessly in the lobby of the apartment building. you had nowhere to go. you fumbled with your phone in your backpack and pulled up your contacts. you knew of no one in your contacts who’d let you stay; they were either on vacation or far away. in truth, bakugou was your closest friend since childhood. he was your map, your guide, your destination; where were you without him?

the wind brushed your cheek as you stood outside the entrance, watching cars pass. the world felt so big compared to the mere side character of you, who buildings loomed over like menacing shadows. it was a somewhat comforting moment, being an alone speck in the grand scheme of things. like this, it was for only a moment you’d forgotten why you were out here in the first place. you’d forgotten the warm feeling that once nestled itself in your heart, instead enraptured by the freeing breeze that rustled in it. 

red. then a breeze. that’s all you saw, eyes widening and stepping back. a man no older than you stood in front of you, hands in his pockets. vermillion wings protruded from somewhere on his back, arcing slightly over the man.

“heyyy….” he said lazily, shadows falling on his face. you started walking backward, hands discreetly feeling for the door behind you. “wait! i’m a pro-hero, i swear! i’m hawks, look it up!” he lifted his hands up in surrender, backing away from you. 

“who…. what do you want?” you asked cautiously, hand on the doorknob behind you. 

he sheepishly scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously. “i, uh…. got lost…. tokyo’s such a big place, y’know?”

“where are you from?” you couldn’t really discern anything of an accent on him, other than a slightly rougher tone of speaking.

“kyushu, fukuoka…” he gestured vaguely. that explained the slight accent. “i’m in tokyo for a bit of work. business trip, y’know how it goes. haven’t visited tokyo in a while, honestly. what’s a good place for a bite? a bird is starving.”

“uh… there’s a place down the street to the right…” off the top of your head, you pointed out a cafe you and bakugou had frequented. 

“it doesn’t have chicken wings, does it?” hawks asked.

“chicken…?” you looked from him to his wings. “no, sorry.”

“don’t sweat it! ‘s fine. hey, i might as well treat you for wasting your time. where’re you heading off to? i could pay for a cab, if you gotta go.”

“ah, thank you....” you said bashfully. “i’m not really in a rush anywhere.”

“really?” he looked excited, innocently so, almost like a puppy. “can i treat you to something?”

“uh… sure,” you replied, strengthening your grip on your backpack. “sure.” 

“great! off we go, m’liege!” he pointed toward the cafe and started marching. he was a sight to behold on the street, red wings standing out a mile away. you followed somewhat reluctantly, grabbing your phone to google exactly who the pro-hero “hawks” was. the name sounded vaguely familiar, but you weren’t one who knew their heroes. yeah, it was definitely him; what was your luck, meeting such a famous pro-hero on the street after being dumped by the love of your life?

he hummed a tuneless melody, turning to the cafe. he held the doorknob waiting for you, opening the door for you first. the homey cafe was decently packed for lunchtime, the quiet chatter of people filling the atmosphere. the scene reminded you of so many other times you'd gone here with bakugou; it gave you chills as you stood next to hawks. 

"hey," hawks said quietly. "you okay? you seem tense." 

you gulped and shook your head. "nah, i'm fine. just thinking about what to eat," you lied. 

he nodded, seeming to buy into the lie. stepping toward the menu, he said, "the toasted sandwiches look good."

"uh huh," you agreed absentmindedly. your attention was on the bout of people who'd turned to look at hawks, some snapping pictures on their phones. he did stand out pretty well with his wings. 

"'scuse me-!" a little girl, no more than 6 or 7, approached the hero. she had a distinctive accent; it was slightly hard to understand her. "can i 'ave a photo with ya?" her eyes got all round. "yer my big brother's favorite hero!"

 "'course, darlin'," hawks smiled. his voice somewhat mimicked hers, his dialect becoming apparent. 

once he'd taken a photo with her, more and more people started following suit, crowding him. you stood awkwardly to the side. some people didn't even know who he was, from what you could tell. you debated ordering a latte and leaving, but decided it'd be unfair to hawks. he was kind to everyone he interacted with, unlike most celebrities who just wanted fame and disregarded others.

after some time, the crowd finally dispersed, leaving you and hawks together. 

he glanced at his watch. “ah, sorry, that took a while…” he apologized. “do you have somewhere to be? i must’ve held you up…”

“nah, don’t worry about it.” you waved him off. “i, uh, actually… was just dumped by my boyfriend…” you nervously shuffled your feet. “i don’t really have a place to stay at the moment… so i’m free the entire day, i guess.” you laughed nervously.

he blinked at you, bird-like eyes wide. “you must be starving.”

you felt your face warm and you laughed - this time, a real, genuine laugh that was a missed sensation against your tongue. “yeah. yeah, i am.”

“hey, dove.” his voice suddenly got close to you, gentler. “you’re crying.”

“oh…?” you felt your cheek with the pad of your thumb. “sorry. i have tissues in my backpack, hang on…” you unzipped the front pocket and started to rummage blindly through your belongings, groping for something vaguely feeling like a packet of tissues.

“here,” he said, handing you a tissue. you turned to him gratefully, accepting the tissue and wiping your face. 

“it’s just… weird,” you said after a pause. “he’s been there all my life - my ex, i mean.” ex. such a strange name for the man you so adored; ex, crossing off the relationship you thought you’d built with him. 

hawks nodded, guiding you to a booth in the cafe. 

you continued, “sorry. you probably didn’t want to hear this today… you’re busy with your hero duties and whatnot.”

“don’t worry ‘bout it, feather,” he reassured you. “he didn’t kick you out, did he?”

“oh, no,” you clarified quickly. “i… left,” you said, abashed. “i shouldn’t’ve been so sudden, but… it was an instinct thing.”

“why’d he do it so suddenly?” hawks asked. “you didn’t see it coming, right?”

“no, i didn’t… but maybe i should’ve…” you think about the part couple months with bakugou. nothing seemed different - you’d gone on dates like normal and spent time together like a couple that loved each other. his interest in you never faltered and nor did the sparkle in his eyes dull; what had happened? what had gone so wrong? 

you realize the silence that’s fallen between you and hawks. the hero was looking at the menu behind you intently. 

“ham and cheese…” he muttered to himself. “no, teriyaki… so yummy… with coffee…” he suddenly seemed aware of your eyes staring at him. “oh, what did you want to eat?”

“i’ll probably have the teriyaki,” you said. it was your go-to sandwich choice at the cafe. you reached for your backpack to retrieve your wallet, but hawks stopped you.

“let me,” he said. “i already caused you so much inconvenience.” 

“ah, okay…” you said meekly. “thank you.”

he shrugged. “what wouldja like to drink?”

“uh… orange juice,” you said. 

“alright!” he saluted you. “your wish is my command.” he got up to order, pulling out his wallet from his pocket. the cashier was particularly animated talking to him, initiating a conversation about aerodynamics with the pro-hero from what you could hear. 

he returned with the sandwiches (made at the fastest time you swore you’d seen them prepare food) and set yours in front of you. 

“let’s dig in!” hawks said, biting into his sandwich. you agreed, taking a bite of yours as well. 

“what’s your name, by the way?” he said in between bites. “i don’t think i ever asked.”

“y/n,” you said.

“pretty,” he commented. “i’m hawks.”

“i know,” you blurted. “i googled it.”

“you did?” his pupils widened. “what’d it say??”

“uhh…” you pulled out your phone, finding the tab you used to google hawks. you turned your screen to him.

he studied the screen. “not fond of that angle,” he mused to himself. “so, why’d your boyfriend dump you?” 

you were taken aback by his candor. “he… said he didn’t love me anymore,” you admitted.

“all of a sudden? out of the blue?”

you shook your head. “he said he’d tried to endure it for a while.”

“how long?”

“a month or two,” you sighed, thinking about the sight of him sitting dejectedly on the couch this morning.

“he didn’t say anything before that?” hawks gasped. “the nerve. how long have you been together?”

“four… or five years now?” you’d been dating him since your days at ua, even when most high school romances - between childhood friends, no less - were especially rocky. he was your promised forever. 

“and he gives up after two months?” hawks set his sandwich down. “wow. some boyfriend.”

“i think there was something more to it,” you said thoughtfully. “we’ve known each other for a long…”

“you still love him, don’t you?”

“i mean… yeah….” you hadn’t given it much thought; bakugou was a habit your heart couldn’t stop thinking about. it was like depriving your heart of oxygen: foreign and wrong. “i do.”

“i’m sorry, dove,” he said. 

“your sandwich will get cold,” you said in an attempt to divert the conversation topic.

“you’re right.” he picked up his sandwich and started eating again, eyes still on you. “this place has good food.”

you hummed in agreement, distracted by the cars going by outside the window. 

“where will you stay?” he asked, halfway done with his sandwich.

hawks voiced the concern plaguing your subconscious from the moment you stepped out of bakugou’s apartment building. it was definitely not the most thoroughly well-thought out plan, and you didn’t want to come back knocking on his door in the night. besides, you weren’t sure if you could stand being there again, in the presence of a liar and someone who felt so foreign to you. you wondered how much you truly didn’t know about bakugou; were there any other lies he’d blossomed behind your back? 

you knew you might be able to stay at a hotel for a couple nights, but not for long. going back to bakugou’s place… as much as you so dreaded the mere thought, you knew it might be your absolute last resort. 

“i’m not sure,” you finally replied truthfully. hawks appeared to have come to a conclusion of sorts.

“tell ya what,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “explore tokyo with me.” he took a bite of his sandwich. continuing, he said, “‘s not often the commission puts me in the big city. i’m off today, so…”

the offer was somewhat bizarre, but what did you have to lose? you agreed, under the terms you wouldn’t be out too late. as you walked out the door, you greeted the cool outside breeze with the hope this would help you put the past behind you.

walking through tokyo with a pro-hero proved harder than it sounded. for one, people kept approaching hawks; after all, he was like a walking light-up sign that said “LOOK AT ME!” with the size and color of his wings. after every time a fan asked hawks for an autograph, he sheepishly apologized to you, and offered two autographs to you. you always laughed and declined; the trip was a reward in itself, you supposed. each acquaintance made you appreciate all the responsibilities of a pro-hero. he was charming, though. he really was, so you didn’t mind.

“skytree! let’s go there!” was the first thing hawks had said walking out of the cafe. you’d been to the skytree a couple of times in your childhood, and it was a nice memory; the tall building stretching, touching the tip of the sky. your parents had told you that stardust flecked the very top of the skytree, for it was so tall. you’d never actually reached the highest floor; it felt like a distant fantasy, as you’d always get tired before reaching the top or circumstance would interfere.

it was a five minute walk to the nearest station, and it’d be another forty or so to skytree. hawks didn’t seem to mind, though, happily promenading down the street like a kid in a candy shop. he pointed excitedly to random buildings that you hadn’t given a second thought about and rambled about the facts he knew about skytree with an accent tingeing his words more than usual. he reminded you very much so of a child going on a field trip, and his giddiness only boosted yours.

“we’re here!” his eyes glistened with anticipation when you reached the station. you’d visited the station dozens of times, but looked at it with a new light when you realized how excited hawks was. “i’ll pay; i dragged you here,” he said immediately when you started to pay for tickets. 

“really, i can’t-” you started, but he cut you off.

“let me. it’s my off day! please.” he took the two tickets he paid for. “here.”

“i don’t really have a choice, do i?”

“nope!” he was already walking away, smiling back at you and waving his ticket.

“hey- wait!” you started running after him. “wrong way!”

forty minutes later, two transfers, and one circle around the station in pursuit of skytree, you stood at the entrance of the tokyo skytree. hawks’ mouth watered at the sight of the line of restaurants in the breezeway you’d passed prior, and you had to stop him from ordering the seasonal special from mcdonald’s before turning to skytree. 

“but you just ate!” you exclaimed as he stared longingly at the ice cream being advertised on a poster. 

he pouted. “but i’m hungry…”

you took his hand (which momentarily shocked him) and guided him to the entrance. it was a bit crowded, but not overtly so. hawks was looking everywhere once you’d entered; darting from here to there, sometimes carrying small souvenirs or drinks when returning to you. you were out of energy by the time you’d reached floor 340, though hawks told you there were only 29 floors total and the name was referencing the height. it certainly didn’t feel like an exaggeration, your feet dragging on the ground as you stepped out of the oddly fast elevator. 

you begged hawks to let you rest at the cafe you saw. the cafe felt like a little oasis of tranquility, uncrowded on contrary to the other floors. it was relaxing as you stared outside the window and up at the sky. it brought you to your parents words of stars and magic, though something as modern as the skytree must be strange to intermingle with magic. in the moment you were suspended; the still sky surrounding you and the ever-moving cars below. you swore you could just reach the clouds in front of you and float, so serenely in an eternal bubble of quietude to yourself. everything else was forgotten in that moment; things were the way they always were. it was always you, in the end.

after leaving the cafe, you watched people stand on glass flooring overlooking everything below. some jumped on the glass, while some frightenedly stuck a foot on the glass and jumped back. 

“quite the view, huh?” hawks mumbled with a mouth stuffed full with chocolate cake. “i usually have to fly so far to get this view.”

you nodded. “it’s amazing...” 

“so… where d’you wanna go after this?” he asked you. 

“actually…” your thoughts went back to the stories your parents told you. “can we go up to floor 455?”

he showed a hint of surprise on his face. “really? i know we bought the tickets to do it, but if you’re tired, we can just go down.”

“no…” you cleared your throat. “it’s been something i really wanted to do.”

he took this answer and smiled, grasping your hand. “let’s walk into the sky!”

the train ride back did not go as smoothly as you hoped. the adrenaline of being 450 meters in the air had worn itself out, and the pitting realization that bakugou was no longer yours dawned on you. the sapphire sky in your fairy tale story seemed so far now, stars shattering and crumbling. you reached for a piece of a star, but each piece dissolved above your head, light that would never reach you. 

“feather,” hawks said quietly. the intense look in his eyes looked like he was building up to something important. 

“yeah?” you asked. you fixated on him.

“do you want… a badtz-maru eraser?”

you stared at the spiky-haired penguin in the palm of hawks’ hand. 

“sure…?” you said. hawks happily plopped the eraser into your hand. 

“feather,” he said again in the same tone. “you should visit bakugou, you know. tonight, to make things straight with him.”

that was what he was building up to. bakugou. you hadn’t dwelled much on the thought of the man; the skytree filling most of your thoughts for the day. but it was still light out.

“i know,” you replied softly, looking down at your fingers. these were the hands that held your heart as you gave it to bakugou, the hands that bakugou held tenderly for so many days and nights. they were the same hands that held your heart now, returned by bakugou shattered and clinking to the ground. the rest of the train ride was silent.

you could now hear your thoughts echoing around the train compartment, deflecting off walls and still making their way to your heart. you wondered what words were left unsaid by bakugou, painful truths untold hidden in the recesses of his heart. you wondered if he remembered how he’d first nervously asked you on a date in high school, words rough but fingers softly fidgeting with each other. it was in may, near the end of the day. he shoved a small box of chocolates towards you, muttering something about “weird hair” making him do it. he’d aggressively stuttered his way through a confession, barely making eye contact with you. the memory brought a fluttering to your heart, but with it came a sore pain for the first time. you wondered if he felt the same or if he was just numb, like how he now felt about you. what did it feel like to fall out of love? 

you wondered if he remembered the many times he’d walked you home (only for your sake, of course, not anything else). you wondered if he remembered how fondly he looked at you then. his heart was on his sleeve during those times, the perpetual blush on his cheeks disclosing his very vulnerable feelings towards you. 

even on the most draining of days, bakugou would always be there for you. even if his eyelids were closing upon their own accord and legs were sore from a day’s work, he made it a point to be there for you. while children might’ve had their security blankets, you had bakugou. your heart dropped realizing those days of coming home to bakugou were gone.

what had happened? now, you were alone on a train that felt so cold and without the love that had so warmed your heart. why had things ended up like this? why did you numb bakugou’s feelings so? the wave was slow at first, but once it had reached the shore, your tears fell hot and unyielding as you toppled off the edge of being okay.

hawks was by your side wordlessly, a wing around you and leaning you close to him. the feathers were soft. you cried unabashedly in his embrace, sniffling as he soothed you. you tried to say thank you, but all that came out was another sob.

your feet, on instinct, took you to bakugou's apartment without any problem. it could’ve been any other day; you, coming back to the apartment after running errands. it was your hand that hesitated as it hovered an inch away from the wood of the door, the only sign that something had changed. you liked to pretend it hadn’t. you wished that when you’d open the door, you’d hear a light chatter from the tv and a familiar voice saying, “welcome home, idiot.” you wished that the air that enveloped you as soon as you opened the door was that of liveliness and comfort, of warm orange and yellow hues. you wished that the atmosphere didn’t feel so dead, dull, and musty; you wish it hadn’t drowned in shades of blue and gray. you wished you didn’t have the key to the apartment still.

you wished that bakugou would say something, anything, rather than sit on the couch with his head bowed. you wished that you didn’t miss him so much and that you had him, all at the same time. you wished you turned back as soon as you heard the knob click and pushed open the door; you wished not to see all that you had in what was once your apartment.

you wished you didn’t revel in his presence next to you on the couch. you wished you didn’t almost lean into his touch because he was your home, and you wished your eyes didn’t well up the way they had. you wished to have sat in that silence for a while then up and gone; you wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

“hey, idiot,” was a cracky and raspy thing coming out of his mouth, words familiar but so foreign at the same time.

“hey,” was what you whispered back, quiet enough for only you to hear.

“where’d you go?” but it wasn’t a question, just a fragile plea devoid of hope.

“skytree,” and you felt you’d break the mood.

“did you reach the top?” his response surprised and killed you at the same time.

“yeah,” you said quietly. “i did.”

“alone?”

“i could never alone.”

“who…?”

“met a pro-hero by chance.”

“your true hero, huh?” it was a bitter tone, venom biting you.

“no,” and your heart sunk because it was the truth.

he scoffed. getting up from the couch, he said, “you forgot something.”

your eyes followed him as he disappeared into your once shared room. he returned quite fast, as if you’d left it on the dresser, carrying a decorated shoebox. you’d almost forgotten about it entirely, eyes wide as nostalgia hit you. 

it was a memory box you’d made the last year of high school. it was supposed to be for school memories, but it really just became a box of mementos of bakugou. you could barely see the contents inside, too busy trying to hold back the tears in your eyes. you thumbed through photos and polaroids of you and him, some with his friends and some with yours. oh, what you’d give to have those times back. though it was all blurred, you could feel the moments so vividly: feel the cool summer breeze and hear the sound of people conversing with each other at a festival; hear mina’s excited ramblings and bakugou’s grumbling at the supermarket; smell caramel and vanilla at a movie night, pressed against bakugou’s body warmth. you dropped the photos back into the box and picked up a scorched pencil. a pressed rose. a neatly folded sheet of notes you’d sent back and forth with bakugou during class. 

and then it was all gone, shutting the box.

“keep it.” you regretted the words as soon as they left your lips, but you wouldn’t take them back. you handed him the box, staring at the floor and wiping your wet eyes. the memories were no longer yours to keep.

bakugou was silent, taking the box and leaving to his room to put it away. 

“is that all?” you tried to make your voice sound strong, impatient. like you had better places to be without him. you hoped he couldn’t tell how it was more of a beg to stay.

“yeah.” cold. emotionless.

you stood for another second, looking around. everything seemed different, as if the glass which surrounded your universe had shattered. “bye, katsuki.”

“bye.”

your footsteps were light, but each step felt weighed by metal weights. you wished he stopped you from leaving. you wished you looked back at him. you wished you weren’t crying.

you shut the door quietly, weakly, behind you. it all came out in the hallway, tears and desperate sobs. you prayed he couldn’t hear you; but you knew, even if he did, he wouldn’t care anymore. he was numbed, no longer the firework you’d known.

“hawks,” it came as a quiet plea as you felt for your phone and dialed his number. he gave it to you right before you walked into bakugou’s apartment.

“please pick up, please pick up,” you muttered, trying to wipe the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they came.

“hey, birdie? are you okay?”

“hawks,” you sobbed. “hawks, no, i’m not.” 

“hey, are you still at the apartment building? i’ll be right there, chickadee, alright?”

you nodded, sniffed, then said meekly, “yeah.”

“stay on the line. talk to me, birdie.” his voice was soothing.

“hawks, it hurts, everything.” you felt as though you were pouring out your heart, spilling scarlet on the carpet. “hawks.” tears dropped onto the carpet. “hawks.” your knees almost gave in.

“what floor are you on, dove?”

“third,” you hiccupped. 

“i’m right there, feather.” you saw hawks emerge from the stairwell. his hair looked windblown. he looked relieved to see you at first, then his face fell to that of sympathy. “oh, birdie,” he said softly, running up to you. “i’m here now.’

you weren’t aware bakugou was listening to you cry on the other side of the door as you sobbed into someone else’s shoulder, not his. with dark eyes and trembling hands he couldn’t calm, he dialed a number on his phone.

“well, tomura? i did it.”

[murderousginger]

She’s A God - Part 2

Peaky blinder fic (Part 1 here)

Masterlist

Warnings: Sass. Alcohol. They’re criminals guys, they do bad things.

Word count: 3,954

Finn was standing at your desk, shyly smiling down on you exactly ten minutes after your shift ended on Monday. Most of the women had packed up and left quickly, shooting odd glances at you as you continued working past the bell. You might as well do more work as you waited for the boy.

Finn's face was flushed and he looked like he had just ran there -- probably from whatever errands his brothers had him on. His clothes were slightly baggy, probably to give him room to grow in, and his hat hung off his head at an angle that gleamed the razor sewn into the cap. Your face broke into a warm smile as you stood up from your desk. 

"Hello Finn, I'm (Y/N)," you said as you extended your hand to him. 

He smiled and shook it, surprise etched on his face you even offered. 

"Hello Miss (Y/N), Tommy told me to meet you here for lessons?" Finn fidgeted as you took his shoulder and guided him into Tommy's office, grabbing a book from your desk at the last moment. Tommy had been elsewhere most of the afternoon, so there was no awkward passing after his housewarming, thankfully.

"Shelly told him a woman had snuck into his study," Lizzie whispered to you at lunch, her face a mix of amusement and annoyance. "He had bought a London whore for the occasion and thought it might have been her. Imagine his surprise to find you there. Shelly knew it was you, of course. Jealousy looks ugly on all women."

"Yes," you said, trying to keep a kind tone. The poor boy seemed nervous and out of place. "Your brother said you had trouble with reading and asked if I could help. Is that alright with you, Finn?"

Finn looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. 

"I don't have no issues with reading," he grumbled. "The letters and words rearrange and get all weird sometimes. I can read."

"I have no doubts you can, Finn," you reassured as you motioned to one of the two chairs in front of Tommy's desk. "You seem like a bright boy. Maybe you can just read some of this book to me, then? You'll be doing me a favor, really. Tommy said he would pay me to help you out. And I brought candy, so any page you read, I can give you some."

You pulled a handful of hard candies from your pocket as you sat down next to Finn. He eyed you cautiously. 

"They treat me like a baby," he said. "I'm not. You shouldn't treat me like a baby, either. I'm 16. I've cut people. I'm a Blinder."

"I have no intention of treating you like a child," you said solemnly as you looked out the door and leaned into Finn conspiratorially. "I just thought, since you have no issues with reading, we could sit here and read together, eating sweets, and tricking that brother of yours out of money. You help me with this, and I'll happily bring you cookies tomorrow."

Finn leaned in with his brows raised. 

"Cookies?"

"Any kind you like," you said as you handed him a candy before popping one in your mouth. "Now read me a page or two, please."

Finn put the candy in his mouth as he squinted at you much like his brother had at the party days before. You held your gaze to his and pushed the book closer to him.

"It's about pirates," you lilted as you nudged him with your shoulder. "They have even better adventures than your brothers do."

He ran his hand over the front before he opened it. 

"Treasure Island," he read slowly, "by Robert Louis Stevenson." 

You nodded for him to go on and he began reading slowly. You let him read at his own pace, only helping him sound words out after he could not get them figured out himself. You praised him, handing him another candy after a particularly hard word or completed page. It was slow going, and you had only finished a chapter or two in an hour, but Finn was looking more and more confident in his reading and he was quickly becoming interested in the story. 

"I think that's enough today, Finn," you said as you reached for the book and dogged the ear of the page and closed it. "Tomorrow we'll start chapter three."

"But I want to find out why Billy Bones attacked Black Dog!" He said excitedly. "That fight was legendary. And why do these people like rum so much? Everyone knows whiskey is better."

"And how would you know that?" You raised a brow as Finn blushed. 

"Everyone knows it, (Y/N)," he said. "That's why all my brothers drink it."

"Maybe it's only pirates that appreciate rum," you mused as you nudged him. "Rum is for mischief."

"Whiskey is for business, and we are businessmen."

The low rumble reverberated, making both of you jump and look at the man in the doorway. Tommy leaned against it, watching you with a small smirk on his face. 

"Just thought I'd check to see how you two fared," Tommy said. "Finn, how do you like her, eh?"

Finn slowly looked between Tommy and you, giving you a mischievous curl of his lip before he grinned and nodded at Tommy. 

"(Y/N)'s a good tutor, Tommy," he said as he stood from his seat. "I think I'm getting better already."

"Good good," Tommy nodded before he jerked his head to the side. "Off you go."

Finn looked back at you to be met with your grin and nod goodbye. He bound for the door and his brother, only to spin and take his hat off to look down at it in his hand. 

"Can you make lemon bars for tomorrow, miss (Y/N)?" 

You chuckled at the boy's attempt at propriety in front of Tommy. 

"Yes, Finn," you said smiling. "Read me chapter three and four tomorrow best you can and I'll send you home with the whole pan."

"Promise?" He said excitedly before elbowing Tommy. "We never get lemon bars at home."

You nodded and Finn spun around Tommy and ran out of the room, excited for the next chapters and his reward. Tommy stood like a statue leaning against the frame. 

"Did he mind well?" He asked, searching his pockets for a cigarette and light. He took his eyes off you to light the end, shuffling the lighter back into his pockets and blowing the smoke above his head. He quirked his head to the side as his eyes found yours again and he waited for your answer. 

"Finn was darling, Mr. Shelby," you said stiffly as you gripped your chair. "He will be an avid reader with wonderful comprehension in no time. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll leave for my own home."

He didn't move, so neither did you. 

"I've talked to my brothers, (Y/N)," he said. "Arthur couldn't pick you out of a crowd and John said you've only ever been professional with him despite his normal comments. Michael works in the office ten feet away and he says you are the only woman in the office that doesn't gossip and keeps to your work when the bosses aren't looking. I'm convinced the lot of them only heard you say 'Yes Mr. Shelby' or 'No Mr. Shelby.'"

You mirrored the tilt of his head with yours.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby," you said with a raised eyebrow.

"Is there a reason you hate my family?" He said as he squinted his eyes. "Have we killed someone you love? Are you related to someone I'm not aware of? Or is it just me you actively despise?"

"Have you ever seen locusts swallow a field, Mr. Shelby?" You asked, meeting his eyes with the same intensity of a forest fire. "Without the right checks and balances, they'll decimate a field in a blink. You've swallowed Birmingham and you're already moving on to London."

"We've always made sure families were taken care of," he started. "Especially Birmingham families. And I've said to call me Tommy."

"In the aftermath, Tommy," you said as you stood up and went to grab your coat. "It's an afterthought. A reaction after your family hurts others. After your plans have consequences."

"And Finn is the only Shelby without blood on his hands, is that it?" He said as he kicked off of the doorway, taking up the exit as you stood under his gaze. 

You refused to flinch. You had been under a Shelby's nose your entire life, this wasn't new, just more literal than usual.

"Finn is a sweet boy that is willing to learn," you huffed. "I can find traits in all of you that I find admirable, but together you care for nothing but yourselves."

"Admirable traits, is it?" He said as he crossed his arms and raised his brow. "Do tell me. You've read enough books from the library I'm sure. Tell me about my family."

You faltered as your eyes went back to the ground and your tongue rushed to press against your teeth. 

"No," he stated simply as his hand tapped your chin to raise your eyes back to his. "I want to know. From a self-learned outsider, tell me about my family."

You sighed and rolled your eyes before you took a deep breath and straightened your back.

"Polly is strong but impulsive," you said quickly, as if reciting notes. "Arthur is obviously a sweet-hearted empathetic man that's been broken by his leaders and his vices to become the erratic explosive man he is today--"

Tommy scoffed as he raised his eyes to the ceiling. 

"Obviously," he said somewhere between a statement and a question. He waved his hand. "Go on."

"John wants the world handed to him on a platter and knows his charms and smile are the best way to get it. His aspirations barely go above women and drink. Ada, who I've seen rarely, is smart for wanting nothing to do with this operation. She tries to help those around her, from what I've heard of her in London. Michael was raised a nice village boy but has your ambition. I fear the day he actually gains power. And Finn is sweet and wants so badly for you to include him that he's willing to do anything. Dangerous for a young man his age."

"And?"

"And you," you exhaled tiredly. "Are very smart but your ego could suffocate anyone else in the room with you. Are you happy now? May I go?"

"No," he said as his arms dropped to his sides and he eyed you. His tone gentled to the point of startling you and you eyed him back. "You've noticed us, our strengths -- what you consider weaknesses--"

"Are weaknesses," you corrected as you crossed your arms and leaned on one hip to better look up at him. 

"Our weaknesses," he ground out. "Why?"

"You can't walk three steps in this town without hearing about a Shelby," you sighed. "You may not have noticed me but your family is impossible to avoid. Why do you think I work here? Better to work for the wolves than be preyed upon by them." 

"Is that some other latin phrase I should know?" 

Your smile held no joy as you watched Tommy Shelby finally remove himself from the doorway to let you pass. 

"No," you said as you stopped beside him and looked into his eyes one last time. "But here's one your family should learn if you ever want to stop ruling this town in fear: Ut ameris, amabilis esto."

"And that means?"

Your smile finally reached your eyes and you stepped out of the doorway. 

"You're a smart man," your mouth held in a tight line. "Look it up."

----

Tommy rolled his eyes and closed the door to his office behind her before he walked to his desk to put out his cigarette. He rummaged for another in his pocket and lit it. He inhaled slowly with his eyes closed before he sank into his chair and started shuffling the paperwork he needed to finish before he headed home. 

He looked at the door for a moment, knowing she would have been out the front door and walking through the city to get back to her place by now. He smiled softly as he leaned back and scoffed at the ceiling. He took another long drag of his cigarette and watched the smoke above him disappear. After a moment he finally leaned forward to work on his papers, pushing her and her words from his head. 

Once he got home, he nodded to the maid that greeted him and declined her offer for tea. 

"Not tonight, no thank you," he murmured as he moved silently through the house. 

He went into the study and poured himself a drink before he leaned on the shelf and looked back at his desk. The image of her leaning on it floated into his mind and he scoffed again, rolling his eyes at himself as if to shake her image away. 

Walking to the bookshelf that she had been looking through, he fingered a book out and sat down at his desk, taking a drink of his whiskey before he leafed through the pages. After quite some time, he chuckled and leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. He closed the book, chuckling to himself as he finished the whiskey he had forgotten about. 

"If you want to be loved, be loveable," he said softly.

----

The next few weeks went as they ever did. Other than the addition of working with Finn for an hour after work and the extra roll of money once a week at your desk, nothing seemed to have changed. You did your work, kept your head down, and thankfully the other Shelby's returned to ignoring you. 

You enjoyed your afternoons with Finn, and had easily made enough baked goods to fatten the boy up had he not been so active otherwise. He was always hungry and you had no problem feeding him as a reward as he progressed. He was quickly devouring the first book -- reading faster and more pages every day -- and you had happily picked out a few more books you thought he would enjoy that now waited in your desk drawer.

Tommy had been polite and distant, always out of his office before Finn appeared. One afternoon, you had walked into his empty office to see a note folded with your name on it. You looked at it, frozen for a moment, before you picked it up and opened it. It was a simple phrase, printed carefully. 

Amore et melle et felle es fecundissimus.

"Love is rich with honey and venom," you murmur with a smile. 

You slipped the paper into your pocket before you picked up a blank piece of paper and wrote your reply, Vincit qui se vincit. He conquers who conquers himself. You folded the paper and placed it on top of his seat as Finn came in. 

"Ready for today?" Finn asked, sitting down in his seat. "I bet we finish the book."

"I think you can," you answered with a smile as you rounded the desk to take your seat. "I have another I think you'll enjoy for after."

Finn opened the book to his marker and started reading. You allowed yourself a moment as you bit your lip, looking across the desk to Tommy's chair. Were you smart to play this game?

After that, a note appeared on your typewriter. You smiled when you opened the paper to read 'Aut viam inveniam aut faciam,' I will either find a way or make one. You scribbled your response, 'Malum consilium quod mutari non potest,' Bad is the plan that cannot change, and left it on his desk after your lesson with Finn. 

You continued passing Latin phrases back and forth every few days. Some of them were silly, others were motivational, but all of them had an undercurrent of a double meaning that you couldn't quite place. You both continued to be proper and professional with each other in person, but the cheeky Latin notes felt like they should be between two people far more close.

One afternoon, Finn showed up with a lopsided grin on his face. 

"Tommy told me to give you this," he said as he shoved the paper at you. "I tried to read it but that's not English, innit?"

You opened it carefully to read a scribbled 'Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.'

If I cannot move Heaven, I will raise Hell.

You smiled. 

"No, it's not English," you said before playfully glaring at him. "What are you reading other people's notes for anyhow?"

Finn smiled sheepishly. 

"They never tell me nothin'," he said. "I wanted to know if it was about me."

You laughed. 

"It's not about you, Finn," you reassured. "Now, let's start your book."

An hour later, you hugged Finn bye. 

"Finn!" You called as you finished writing and folded the paper. "Give Tommy this."

"Tommy?" He questioned with a smile. "I think that's the first I haven't heard 'Mr. Shelby.'"

"Just give him the note, cheeky brat," you laughed. 

Finn stuck his tongue out at you and opened the note. 

"Desti-" he read and knotted his face, "destitutes vent--"

"Destitutus ventis, remos adhibe," you laughed. "It means 'if the winds fail you, use the oars.'"

"What's that even mean?"

"It's not your note, is it?" You taunted. "You don't need to know."

Days later, you found a note stuck under a bottle of wine in front of your door. You opened it, immediately recognizing the messy writing that had replaced the clean letters of the first few notes as time passed. 'Audentes fortuna iuvat,' Fortune favors the bold. You smiled and looked around to find no one. You brought the bottle in and locked the door behind you. 

You wrote your response, unsure of how to give it to him after the bottle of wine on your door. You held onto it, hoping you would find a perfect opportunity. 

----

"I don't think you'll need me anymore after today, Finn," you said as you hugged the boy one Friday months later. "You've read through that last book with no problems. Just keep reading and you'll be great."

"If I woulda known that, I wouldn't have read so fast," he frowned as he closed the book he just finished. "I liked seeing you in the afternoons. I even looked forward to it after the weekends."

You laughed. 

"You can still see me around and we can talk books if you like," you smiled. "Tell you what, you can come around on Sundays. I'll feed you lunch and you can tell me what you're reading, how's that sound?"

"You promise?" Finn asked as his eyes lit up. "Deal."

"Inviting Shelby's into your home now?" Tommy called from behind them at the doorway. "Did Finn break the Shelby curse and warm your heart?"

"Tommy," you said evenly. "I was just telling our Finn that he won't need me anymore, but he was welcome to talk books with me anytime."

"If you think he's done, I suppose it's done," he said. "Our Finn, run on home and we can talk about your future once I get there. I'll need a word with (Y/N)."

"Yessir," Finn said as he looked at Tommy's serious expression. He gave you a friendly smile and was out in a flash. 

"Thank you for the wine," you said quietly once Finn was gone.

"Thank you for getting my brother's reading up to speed," he said. "In only a few months, too. I should make my other brothers see you."

"I don't think they would be as receptive," you laughed and he smiled. 

"Probably not," he chuckled. 

"I haven't found a note knocking around my desk," he said, taking a step forward from the doorway as you stood from your chair. "Did I lose it?"

You watched him carefully, but couldn't help but smile. 

"No, Tommy," you said. "You haven't lost it."

"Tommy, you say," he teased as he stepped in front of you. "I've finally lost the chill of using proper names."

"Tends to happen when you trade notes like children. Or spies."

"Well?" He said as he smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Where's my note?"

You tilted your head to look up at him to properly meet his eyes. 

"Do you pour over them by candlelight, trying to decipher them with your books you hadn't read until I upset you in your study?" You teased, smiling up at him. "Do you look forward to my responses, desperate for the challenge?"

"I've not been desperate in a long time," Tommy said, looking over your face as he leaned closer. "But I do look forward to a challenge."

"Happy to give you one, then," you said, looking down to his soft lips before meeting his bright blue eyes. 

"Are you talking about yourself or my next latin phrase, (Y/N)?" He growled as his own eyes dipped to your lips, causing you to smirk. 

"Acta non verba, Tommy," you said as you circled around him and out the door. "Goodnight and have a good weekend, Mr. Shelby," you called as you walked away. "I'm sure it will be filled with dubious adventures and women who find criminal activity all too attractive."

----

One afternoon a few days later, Tommy called for you and Lizzie from his doorway, leaving the other ladies in fits of whispers as to what was going on. Lizzie and you both shared a look, cautiously walking together into Tommy's office. 

"Close the door," he waved at you as he sat down, "I need to speak with both of you."

You closed the door quietly and turned as Tommy sat behind his desk. He shuffled some paperwork and motioned for you both to sit. 

"Now," he said as he cleared his throat. "I've been thinking about investing, or rather creating, a foundation for the orphan children of Birmingham."

Lizzie immediately stiffened before she went to say something. 

"Now Lizzie is already bogged down with my other ventures," Tommy said as he spoke over her before looking at you. "And you have a good head on your shoulders as well as an eye for bullshit. This foundation is to be above board and not to be mixed with my other operations, and I'd like you to set it up and run it." 

"Me?" You stammered, "I don't--"

"Lizzie will help teach you the paperwork and such," he said as he leaned back with his hands on the desk. "I'll trust you to set it up and keep it running. You'll report directly to me about it, and hopefully it will do some good around our city. What do you say, (Y/N)?"

"I don't-- I'm speechless," you said, looking between Lizzie's shocked face and Tommy's cool expression. "I'm not sure I'm fit for the job."

"You're fit as much as anyone else," he said evenly. "I trust you'll make yourself an expert overnight with that brain of yours. That'll be all, ladies, I'll fill you in more as I gather the pieces."

Lizzie stood up and went to walk back out the door but you sat shocked, still looking at Tommy's placid face. 

"Why me?" You asked barely above a whisper. "Why not Polly or Ada or Lizzie?"

"Someone once told me 'deeds not words,'" he said with a twinkle in his eye. "I fully intend on living by that."

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 4 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer and Reader go on their first date. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW 18+) Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), exhibitionism, masturbation, fingering, spanking, penetrative sex, Prof/Student fantasy Word Count: 8.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

—————————————————

When I was younger, I hated going to museums. Granted, I'd only ever really had the opportunity to go during school field trips. The crackling, barely coherent ramblings of a stranger through a loudspeaker had never been my idea of fun.

In fact, I'd been to that exact museum before. But the present time was a little different. That time, I was enthralled with the objects on the other side of the glass. With wide eyes and childlike wonder revived, I was hanging on every word out of Spencer's mouth.

I knew the guy was probably a genius, but I had no idea how much of a genius he was until he was recounting the entire history of civilization like he'd been reading straight from an encyclopedia. He looked like a hilarious mix of proud and embarrassed when he finally admitted his IQ. Meanwhile, I had to admit that I not only had no fuckin' clue what my IQ was, I was certain it was significantly lower than his. 

He didn't seem to mind.

In a way, I thought it was strange when he told me he wanted to bring me to a place like that. After all, I'd told him I wanted to learn more about him. I figured a museum would teach me about everything else, not him.

But seeing him in this environment told me more about him than I ever could have imagined. I learned about his avid love for the most trivial facts, the way his inflection changed when he got excited, and that despite reading probably hundreds of thousands of books, his hunger for knowledge was still very much alive and well.

Most of all, I learned that Spencer Reid was unlike any man I'd ever seen before.

It was a bad idea. Because when we finally made our way out of the final exhibit, I didn't want to leave. Not even close. If you'd told my mother I spent several hours in a museum and didn't want to leave, she'd never believe you.

"Hey, so..." I started, pausing outside the gift shop on our way out. "It's almost 5. Did you want to grab dinner before we head back? I have worked up quite the appetite listening to you for the past 4 hours."

"Has it really been that long?" he asked incredulously before glancing down at his watch wrapped over his shirt.

I tried very hard, and failed, to suppress a giggle at the habit.

"I'm honestly surprised you still have spit left in your mouth," I joked as I swayed closer to him, almost enough to touch him.

"Ha ha, very funny," he replied. A slight pout formed on his face. I almost enjoyed the swapped roles; it wasn't often that he was the one who looked so forlorn.

"Come on, I'm joking!" I laughed before slipping my arm around his and pulling him closer to me.

Spencer glanced down in surprise, staring at my chest that was now fully pressed against his arm. Although, the way he looked at me was nothing compared to the response he'd given after I showed up in a pleated skirt that better belonged on a Catholic schoolgirl.

But I mean, like I'd said, I used to go there on school trips. It was only fair.

"I love listening to you talk, Spencer. You know that."

The speed with which he looked away when I finished talking was enough to tell me that I had said the wrong thing. His goofy, playful demeanor vanished so quickly, I'd almost gotten whiplash. He didn't remove his arm, instead clearing his throat and pulling out a brochure from his pocket to look at nearby places to eat.

A bit reserved, he asked if I was interested in one of the closer casual restaurants, to which I agreed. At that point, I removed myself from his side and was only a little surprised to see the way his body immediately relaxed.

I wanted to believe he just didn't like to be touched, which I was certain was true, but he was behaving differently with me than he had before. We'd touched in public before, a lot more than that, and we'd known each other a lot less!

But of course, that was probably why. The closer we got, the farther away he felt.

The walk to the restaurant was slightly awkward, so after a moment I decided to break the silence.

"You said you grew up in Vegas, right?"

"Yeah, until I moved to go to school," he explained, looking around at the surroundings of the D.C. crowds winding down rather than turning his attention back to me. 

At least I was finally learning more about him.

"Where did you go?"

"Caltech."

He was keeping his answers short, but I feel like he might still be a little embarrassed at my little jab at the museum. That was fine, I knew ways to make him talk. I clasped my hands behind me as I walked by his side, still tempted to touch him somehow, however ill advised.

"Was it hard being away from your family? That's a few hours away, isn't it?"

He laughed awkwardly, a sure sign that I'd forgotten that him and I come from different worlds.

"Well, I was barely 13, so... My mom was kind of legally obligated to follow me."

He was so cute, and he definitely wasn't aware of it.

"Right, sorry, forgot about the genius thing for a minute. Don't know how."

The smile he returned was genuine, which helped my guilt for bothering him yet again. But in my defense, it was easy to do when he was a literal genius and I was barely scraping by half the time.

As we arrived, we were seated in a booth near the back of the restaurant. I offered him the booth with a view of the door because I'd figured he would want it. He gave me a strange side glance at my assumption, like I was hiding something from him that would grant me the knowledge that it would be more comfortable for him to be able to see the door.

I didn't want to talk about how I knew that, though.

Instead, I asked, "Do you like it here? In Virginia?"

He nodded as he flipped open the menu, speaking almost scripted answers absentmindedly, "I do, but mostly because it's been so long that everyone I know is here."

I'd already been here before, so I didn't bother looking at the menu. Naturally, he'd only required a few seconds to read it. When he made eye contact again, I spoke through my thoughts.

"You said you're a profiler for the..."

"Behavioral Analysis Unit."

His tone was a mix of pride and nerves, which immediately made me nervous.

"I haven't looked it up yet because I'm scared about what I might find. What do you guys do, exactly?"

The server brought us drinks just in time to pause his answer, which he seemed to appreciate. I figured it was either a tough job to explain, or he didn't want to share that part of his life with me just yet (or, potentially, ever). 

Spencer lowered his voice like he usually did when he talked about work.

"We profile the behavior of serial killers. Sometimes for research, but mostly to assist local police in catching them."

"Oh..." I started, stopping mid-sip of my drink. It was a lot to take in at once. "So... yeah, I'm glad I didn't google it."

He scrunched his mouth in that unsure way, like he wanted to explain to me how he really felt about his job. Something in the bags under his eyes told me he hasn't talked about this in a long time. At least, not like he should. But he didn't talk about it. He looked away, opting to say nothing at all.

"Doesn't it get to you?" I pushed, trying to offer him the platform to talk about the thing that no doubt consumes most of his life.

"Does what get to me?" His voice sounded so far away.

"Spencer, when I met you, you were whisked away at the crack of dawn to go talk about serial killers. On a weekend. The second time you showed up at my place after clearly not having slept, I'm guessing straight from work..."

His eyes narrowed as I spoke, like I was talking from a tightrope that I could plummet off any second. He seemed scared that I would speak something into existence he wasn't ready to face himself.

"You're surrounded by evil all the time. You're responsible for learning, recognizing, and manipulating evil. That can't be easy."

Spencer's eyes were glazed over in a way I couldn't describe. He seemed defensive, steeled, and absolutely terrified. He wouldn't look me in the eyes, opting instead to stare down at the menu in front of him.

He shrugged as he halfheartedly concluded, "I guess that's one way to look at it. We also get to see a lot of good."

"Yeah..." I nodded solemnly, recognizing the dismissive thoughts from my own experience.

He was downplaying the great likelihood of traumatic memories he carried, as if he could will away the damage. Like it would stop existing if he could convince himself it wasn't that bad.

I wondered what had happened to him on the job for him to already have forgotten that things didn't have to be the worst possible to matter. That he still deserved better. That hurt does not require permission.

I couldn't stop myself, needing to see how he reacted when I continued, "But which do you see more of?"

I never got my answer. The server once again saved him from a conversation that got away from him. The presence of a third, impartial person shifted the mood back to what it was in the museum. I wondered how much was an act, both back then and in that moment.

Deciding it best not to dwell on the thought, I tried to forget about the darkness brewing in those coffee colored eyes. Once our orders were in, he turned his attention to the cocktail menu still laying in the middle of the table with a smile.

"I'm almost surprised you didn't try to order alcohol," he half-joked.

I leaned forward on the table, bringing a hand up to my mouth and whispering, "I heard there might be an undercover fed here, so, never can be too safe."

The bubbly, childish laugh that followed renewed my faith in him. He had that kind of infectious laugh that made you forget that badness existed at all. Once our ruckus had died down, he looked at me with the softness that had drawn me to him in the first place.

"You're cute."

When the words registered in my mind, I couldn't believe I'd heard them. The way his expression changed shortly after the words left his mouth told me he hadn't meant to say them aloud. But their effect on me was not at all stifled by his momentary lapse in judgment.

I'd wondered if it was getting hotter in the building, or if it was just my nerves getting the best of me. But it wasn't bothering Spencer, who was about to down yet another cup of coffee in front of him. I cleared my throat, trying to not look like a schoolgirl whose crush had just checked 'yes' on a note asking if he liked me.

Pointing to the mug in front of him, I joked, "How do you sleep?"

"Honestly? I usually don't."

That was the goofy overly literal dork I wanted to see more of.

"I can think of one way to wear you out," I suggested, lifting my leg to press the top of my foot against his leg under the booth.

He raised his eyebrows, giving a simple glance down to acknowledge the contact. Then his eyes were back on me, staring deeply with a hunger that would not be satisfied by whatever dish they brought out to us.

"I can think of several."

Humming cheerfully, I continued to run my foot up and down his leg. My cheeks flushed with my growing desire that I'd managed to put off for several hours. I was honestly shocked that I'd spent the whole day with this man, and only then thought about sleeping with him.

"It's too bad we can't," I pouted. "My roommate is back in town. Not sure she'd appreciate all the noise."

That time as my foot drew up his leg, he shifted in his seat so that his legs moved closer to me, extending the contact for a few seconds longer.

"Not to mention, I don't think you'd like to deal with several 20-year-olds."

The way he behaved whenever I pointed out my age was endlessly entertaining. That time, though, he seemed significantly less bothered.

"One is already borderline for me," he teased back.

I gasped, clutching at my chest as I batted my eyelashes just dramatically enough to showcase my pride.

"You flatter me, Dr. Reid."

He almost choked on his coffee as he stifled a chuckle, putting it down as he shook his head.

"Only you would take that as a compliment."

Recognizing this repartee as the foreplay it had always accompanied, I leaned forward on my elbows towards him. He immediately mirrored the movement, putting our faces much closer to each other than they'd been all day.

"What can I say? I enjoy being a challenge."

"Yes, you do." He hadn't even thought about it, responding almost instantaneously, suggesting once more that he could actually read my mind.

"How are you so good at that?" I kept the question vague on purpose.

He didn't fall for it.

"I'm good at a lot of things. Which are you referring to?"

What a cocky bastard. A very handsome, ridiculously sexy, dork of a bastard.

But he wasn't the only one at the table that knew how to get someone hot and bothered.

"Your humility is my favorite part, Dr. Reid." I stuck my tongue out at the end of the sentiment, a cheeky grin that reflected on him just as quickly.

"Quoting me? That's bold."

Deciding it had been too long since I had touched him, I lifted my hand to press a single finger against his chest as I taunted, "You aren't the only person with a good memory."

He leaned back at this point, backing away from my finger and the heated exchange.

"I don't have a good memory. I have an eidetic memory."

He had been very proud of that fact earlier when I asked him why the hell he was able to list off every single word from a museum display we'd seen an hour earlier. I'd asked him if it was the same as a photographic memory, and he'd gone on a rant about the pejorative connotations of the term. I wasn't going to go down that rabbit hole again today.

Instead, I took the same hand that had touched him moments before, curling all but one finger into a fist.

"So you'll be able to remember this forever?" I cooed as I held up my middle finger.

"I'll just file that away with the most important memories, like birthdays and the works of Arthur Conan Doyle," he sighed in response, graciously admitting defeat.

I was not brave enough to tell him I had no idea who that was, but I was sure I'd learn one day. That one, I thought, was probably safe to google. While he filed away my crude gesture, I filed away yet another fun fact to surprise him with later.

"You are, by far, the most interesting person I've ever met," I implored, to which he immediately shot back, "I could say the same about you. And I regularly talk to serial killers."

Touché, Dr. Reid.

"I'm flattered," was the last word I got in edgewise before our food arrived.

The rest of our time in the restaurant went very similarly, with teasing comments that built the sexual tension that was already too big for this tiny room. Our legs never stopped touching throughout the entire meal. Maybe that was why, when it was finally time to leave, we both felt a strange mixture of excited and sad. Once we were no longer behind the booth, it was back to pretending like we weren't constantly trying not to pounce on the other.

The walk to the metro was equal parts long and tense. At one point I'd swayed closer to him than I intended, and our sides brushed up against one another. Unlike before in the museum, he hadn't moved away. I couldn't believe something so minuscule could made me so happy.

The metro was more crowded than I'd anticipated. The fact that the station is underground was usually enough to make me feel a little claustrophobic, but the number of people bustling around me felt especially overwhelming. I couldn't help but chastise myself for having worn a skirt, considering the stark number of perverted men in places like these.

Spencer's touch woke me from my reverie. His arm had wrapped around my lower back with such unassuming delicacy, I'd hardly registered it at first. He was looking down at me with concern covering his features as he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry, there's a lot of people here."

I had one hand holding my skirt down against my leg, the other crossed over my chest.

"Makes me nervous," I further explained.

"Can I help?"

Even though he was offering, I could tell the crowds bothered him just as much. Thankfully, his presence was enough for me.

"You already are."

There was something so calming about his presence that was hard to explain. It wasn't his ability to physically protect me, considering he didn't  have his weapon with him most of the time I was with him. It wasn't his emotional availability (or lack thereof). It was more like he  exuded some chemical that made me docile. It was hard to explain.

I just liked him, okay?

When our train pulled in it was relatively crowded, but we managed to grab two seats near the back of a car. I sighed in relief as I plopped down into the plastic chair, happy to finally be able to rest my legs.

With Spencer on the aisle seat and us on our way back to Franconia Springfield Station, I let myself relax. My head dropped down onto his shoulder without much thought, and my entire body slumped over with it.

"How am I supposed to stay awake for this when you're so comfy?" I mumbled, looking down at the hem of my pleated skirt as I fiddled with it.

"That certainly sounds like quite the predicament," he said in what I assume was jest.

He sat up, bumping my head off his shoulder for a moment. I interpreted it to be a subtle way of telling me not to do it, but once he had shrugged off his cardigan, he looked at me like he was confused I hadn't resumed the position.

Armed with a simper, I cuddled up even closer this time, wrapping my arms around his and resting my cheek against his shoulder. I wasn't sure why he had gotten so open to touch, but I wasn't going to complain. 

He didn't say anything when he draped his cardigan over my lap, covering my knees peeking out from under my skirt. A nice gesture, I thought as my body instinctively gravitated towards him. It wasn't until I closed my eyes that the pieces started to come together.

I was on the metro, in a skirt, with Spencer Reid's hand slowly but surely inching up my thigh.

My eyes shot open, and I tensed my grip around his arm. It was the only thing I did to betray my otherwise composed and unassuming position.

His breath was hot on my ear as he leaned over to me and began to whisper, "Do you know the idea that people fall asleep after sex is less true for women than men? Many speculate it's because women are just neglected in bed, but that's not quite it."

I didn't dare respond, hardly trusting myself to breathe as his hand continued to move closer to me.

"Both sexes do release the same chemicals during orgasm. Oxytocin to stimulate smooth muscle contraction and initiate the need to bond, prolactin to relieve arousal and signal satiation, and the leftover gamma aminobutyric acid, dopamine, and serotonin..."

I couldn't understand how he'd managed to make the lecture sound sexy, but I was too lost in the sound of his voice to bother thinking about it then.

"Still, women are less likely to fall asleep. Sure, they typically exert less physical energy during sex, but what about those women like you with a penchant for going for a ride?"

A woozy, lovesick smile spread across my face at the reference to our first encounter.

"Those women might still stay awake for longer and may actually be more invigorated after reaching climax. And it's all thanks to their naturally lessened refractory period."

I nodded dumbly, gasping lightly once I felt his fingers make contact through the flimsy cotton of my underwear.

"Which might sound like a curse. But it's not. It means that those lucky women can reach multiple orgasms in succession. Some partners just aren't willing to put in that kind of effort," he continued, tracing a finger up and down my folds through the fabric.

"But I'm not one of them."

His words were strong, and I buried my face into his shoulder, trying not to alert the entire car what was happening underneath his cardigan.

"I would much rather watch you come undone. Again, and again, and again. I want to make sure that when I'm done with you, you can't keep your eyes open."

My breath was getting quicker, and I let out a small squeak against his shirt as he pressed down on the bundle of nerves at my center, drawing circles around it.

"That being said, if you need something to keep you awake, I do have a solution. But if you make a single noise, I will stop."

I had to bite down hard on my bottom lip to prevent any noise from slipping out. My legs were wavering between opening and closing as I tried to keep them apart. I could feel how damp I was getting. My hips were moving with a mind of their own, rocking toward his hand. It took all of my concentration not to give us away.

I choked on my breath as a sly finger snuck into the side of my underwear, allowing entrance to the others that followed.

"Shhh," he hushed, pressing a soft kiss on the top of my head. Underneath my skirt, though, he was much less chaste. Slipping two fingers into my heat, I could have sworn I heard him laugh from above me.

I didn't dare look at him, nervous that the moment I did, I would lose all control.

"I had no idea it would be so easy to get you to follow directions. Are you that worried you might get caught?"

He could feel my heartbeat against his arm. He must have been able to, because I was suffocating against his arm. My hands clenched around him like he was the only lifeline in an ocean of pleasure.

"Imagine what they would think if they knew what you let me do to you. What you beg me to do to you."

My legs were beginning to tremble around him as he stroked me from the inside. All I could feel was him. His hands, his breath, his words.

"Is that why you wore this skirt? A naughty little schoolgirl fantasizing about an older man touching you like this?"

He quickened the pace of thrusting into me, his words getting more insistent as the train was almost empty now, closing in on our stop.

"Is it everything you thought it would be? No. Can't be. You wish there was something else of mine in between your legs."

I couldn't explain how, but my climax snuck up on me. When it happened, it smashed into me like a wave crashing onto the shore. I gasped for breath against his arm, and he thankfully took mercy on me. Despite definitely making a noise, he continued his motions, palming at the crest of my folds to give me one last boost of stimulation.

I shook around him, my thighs tightening onto his arm as I finally found release. I could hear the announcement calling for our station, but it felt worlds away. Still, Spencer pulled his hand out from underneath our pile of clothes, wiping the evidence of our escapade against the inside of my skirt before also removing his arm from underneath my tight grip.

"Son of a bitch," I puffed, relaxing all my muscles at once as I tried to retain control over my pulse. I could barely think straight.

"You're welcome," he beamed, as if he hadn't just gone full dominant as he finger fucked me on the metro.

I didn't understand how the hell he expected me to get up and walk off like nothing happene, but somehow, I managed. I stood with wobbly legs and a flustered state of mind until he linked his arm with mine and led me off the car and into the station. I clung to the assistance, grateful that he was once again taking pity on me.

However, it felt like it wouldn't last long. Once we'd gotten to his car, he helped me in before climbing into the driver's seat. It was silent for a moment, like he wanted me to ask him a question that I wasn't willing to ask.

I didn't want the night to be over, but if he asked me if I was ready to go home, I'd have to say yes. After all, it wasn't proper form to invite myself to his apartment. Especially with how weird he got whenever I got close to him.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

The pity was gone.

I didn't think before I spoke, immediately responding as a joke, "Not unless it's yours."

The silence was back.

Oops.

I realized that I'd spoken out loud at the same time he delivered his response; I was going to stop him, but he was too quick.

"My place it is, then."

I couldn't help but smile, my cheeks burning as I asked quietly, like my volume might change his mind, "Really?"

"Sure, why not?"

I didn't have an answer. We didn't talk for a moment, enjoying the contented silence as I texted my roommate to tell her that I was going to be late home, if I came at all. I was hoping for the latter. Once that was sent off, I returned my gaze to the man paying almost full attention to the road.

"You know, I have to get you back for what you did back there."

He smirked, not breaking away from the road as he replied, "I did you a favor."

"A cruel favor," I whined, turning in my chair as I buckled my seat belt so I could get closer to him.

"No such thing," he corrected, although I think we both knew there very well could be such a thing.

"Uh-huh."

I watched him for a moment, trying to decide the best way to get back at him. I could always try the most relevant payback...

He didn't even notice my hand reaching out until it was already sliding up his thigh at a rapid pace.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as if it weren't already obvious.

"Getting you back," I snickered as I finally made it up his leg, palming the quickly forming erection under his pants.

"I'm driving!" His voice was so high pitched it was heartwarming. It was like our roles had switched, even just for a second.

"I'm not stopping you from driving!"

Obviously trying to compose himself, he grabbed my wrist and held it in the air and out of reach of him.

"Unless you want to crash this car, you'd better wait until we get back to my place."

It was a valid warning, but not one I wanted to hear.

"Spoil sport."

"At least you're alive!"

It was back to the sexual tension from before in the restaurant. I wanted to touch him, and I was guessing based on the visible tent in his pants, he wanted me. So, I got to thinking, and I figured that if I wasn't allowed to touch him, that only left one other person.

"... What are you doing?"

It was a valid question. He'd glanced over to see my hand traveling up my own skirt as I parted my legs just enough to maneuver beneath my underwear.

"Nothing," I hummed, now looking at him with half-lidded eyes as I rocked forward onto my hand.

"That's cruel." He sounded so devastated to see that I was doing what he couldn't, despite the fact he had his hand in this exact spot not that long ago.

My fingers dipped between my folds, collecting the remnants of the orgasm he had given me as I crooned, "What? You said I couldn't touch you while you're driving. I'm not touching you. You're welcome."

I opened my eyes just enough to see the way he tightened his grip on the steering wheel while trying not to look at me. Couldn't drive distracted. That was the entire reason why I was touching myself and not him.

"Unless, of course, you do consider this part of me as your property. In which case, I'm not going to stop, anyway," I snickered. 

Rewarding myself with a soft moan, I tried to prolong the experience the best I could. It was hard when every couple of seconds he would look over at me. I hadn't thought that I would find his anger that attractive, but there I was, coming apart at the seams already based on nothing but a look. 

He was thoroughly unamused, which only egged me on, honestly. I didn't care if I was being overdramatic as I touched myself, I wanted him to think about what he was missing. Which was why I didn't stop myself from moaning. Pants and gasps echoed throughout the car as I picked up my pace.

"I hope you're ready for the consequences of this very poorly thought out decision."

On the contrary, Spencer. I had very clearly thought it through. I was thinking it so clearly I could picture his hands where mine were, among other parts of him.

Thinking about how to dig an even deeper hole for myself, I found the perfect mechanism.

"Mmm, Professor Reid," I cried, recognizing that it would either infuriate him or bring him a great sense of pride. I was fine with either.

I closed my eyes so I could better envision the fantasy that was actually just a memory. For now. With my eyes closed, I couldn't tell much of what was going on outside of my touch, trying to ignore the man beside me as best as I could. I wanted him to suffer.

Spencer, however, had other plans. With both eyes still on the road, his hand had found its way to my legs, where it shot up to join mine. He removed my hand quickly and replaced it with his own.

There was no subtlety or warm up this time. Without any hesitation, he dipped a finger into my heat just to remove it and begin rubbing harsh circles over my clit. I couldn't stop the yell that resulted, and seconds later I came undone against him.

As soon as the spasming stopped, he removed his hand, not speaking a word or even looking at me. I'd realized at that point that he'd only finished me off because he hadn't wanted to grant me the satisfaction of doing it myself. He was asserting that yes, in some sense, he viewed this as a part of his property.

I was oddly okay with that.

"Is the silent treatment my punishment?" I asked with a pout after a few moments of nothing.

He laughed bitterly back, finally looking at me for a moment before vaguely replying, "No. Your punishment will be much more fun for me."

I had to admit the implication that the silent treatment wasn't fun for him was flattering, at least. I was glad to hear that he enjoyed talking to me as much as I enjoyed listening to him talk.

But for the moment, I was sort of exhausted. Not in the way that would make me fall asleep, but in the I-just-had-two-orgasms-let-me-recoup way. Even though we enjoyed talking, those moments were refreshing in their own way. The best kind of connections were the ones that could always be maintained, even in the quiet.

Despite it not being my punishment, Spencer remained fairly quiet the rest of the way home. I wondered if part of that was due to him brewing a plan for what would happen when we got there.

God, I hoped so.

As we pulled up to the nondescript building, I had to admit I was a bit disappointed to find Spencer didn't live in some whimsical fantasy like I'd always envisioned. The building looked like every other one. But, at the same time, I couldn't want to see the inside. If I had to bet, there would be a lot of books and a stark lack of computers.

Walking into Apt #23, I was only a little surprised by what I saw. The warm green tones of his walls were complimented by red and brown accents, and my theory was quickly proven correct.

"Whoa," I mumbled under my breath, "It's like a library."

"You must go to some pretty small libraries, then."

I rolled my eyes. Like his usual attempts at humility, Spencer failed horribly.

I spun around on my heels to face him, but at the same time as I heard the lock flip into place, I felt his hand around my arm. Spencer's movements were quick as he gripped tightly on my wrist and pulled me towards what I could only assume was his bedroom.

Weirdly, I was still trying to take in my surroundings rather than focus on fucking him. It made sense, I figured. I had already experienced two orgasms today, whereas he had none.

Oops. Guess I really was a spoiled brat.

But seriously—I was in his apartment! I wanted to snoop, dammit!

Spencer wasn't going to give me an opportunity, though. He'd even made a point of shutting the door to his room once we were inside. Something told me he would keep a close eye on me as long as he could. That was probably deserved, considering that within the first few hours of interacting with him, I had answered a call from his boss.

In my defense, it had been fucking hilarious.

He led me to stand in front of him, and out of instinct and habit, I moved forward to kiss him. I never made it to his lips, though. Spencer pushed me aside toward the bed, and I laughed as I leaned over it, making a point of flipping up the back of my skirt.

"I've been bad, Professor," I giggled, turning to glance back at him from the position I had happily assumed without being told.

He had that dark fire in his eyes that usually came before a storm.

He looked like he was ready to break me. I was ready to be broken.

"Are you going to teach me another biology lesson?"

When his hands touched me, they were as tender as ever. He caressed my hips where I had turned the skirt up, hooking his fingers around the waistband of the underwear and casually removing them.

"No, I'm afraid not."

He sounded delighted despite the words he spoke.

"This will be a very different kind of lesson."

Oh, I realized all at once.

"A lesson in discipline?" I inquired, swaying my hips underneath his hands and waiting for confirmation.

The loss of his hand on one side caused anticipation to build. I could hear the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

It was hard to tell which happened first. Instantaneously, his hand came down hard on the soft skin of my backside as he responded, "Yes."

The adrenaline that coursed through my veins in response shook any feelings of fatigue I might have sustained throughout the day. I welcomed his body heat against my back as he leaned forward against me, and used his weight to press me down into his bed.

"Unless you've changed your mind."

"No!" I shouted back much too forcefully before gripping onto the sheets in front of me. "I deserve to be punished, Professor Reid."

He withdrew from me and, within seconds, brought his hand down on me again, that time striking the other side. The snapping sound of the contact was enough to elicit a response. I clamped my legs together and gave a soft mewl. Appreciating my vocal response, the next two hits came in rapid succession. I could feel the warmth building in the skin, the breeze from the motions acted as a buffer for the delicious sting.

He roughly grabbed both cheeks in front of him, for no reason other than wanting to. I groaned at the sensation of the tender flesh being handled, which only led him to release one to smack it once more. He followed with the other, appreciating the balance required of this particular punishment. I wasn't going to stop him. I was happy to continue. But something told me that he was breaching the point of comfort in his own conscience.

He was always so worried he would break me. I couldn't say it wasn't endearing. That didn't stop him from giving each side one more forceful blow, however, which earned him a mangled cry from deep in my chest. His body was against mine again, one of his hands reaching around to tilt my head up, despite not being able to see him. I was beginning to think he just enjoyed manipulating my body at will. To see how far I would let him.

"I think you're starting to get it, (y/n)."

"Yes," I responded, not caring if it didn't make much sense in response.

Despite the fact he'd already finished me twice today, I somehow already wanted him again. Maybe it was the allure of finally being able to fuck him in his own bed, or maybe it was the desire to see him fall apart as a reminder that I'm not the only one desperate for the other's touch.

So quickly he returned to the gentle, barely there traces along my skin.

"Punishment looks good on you," he praised, and something about the way he said it filled me with pride.

"You look good on me, too, sir," I slurred as he continued to draw feathery markings on the abused skin. He chuckled, finally moving up along my back before I interrupted his thoughts and appreciation once more.

"Fuck me," I begged. I wanted him and didn't care how I got it. "Let me help you feel good."

The hands that had inflicted pain moments ago were now gently massaging my shoulders through my top. I sighed, relaxing further into his touch. So easily I had become complacent to his desire. I let him do whatever he wanted, trusting that he would never do anything to truly, honestly hurt me. 

"Something tells me you're more interested in making yourself feel good," he asserted — quite correctly.

"Can't we have both?"

His silence told me he was considering my words. I knew that he didn't want to, since that would ruin the whole idea that this was a punishment in the first place. Then again, I didn't think he was fully committed to that idea anyway.

Dragging his hands once more down the plane of my back, he stopped to grip my hips and shift me backwards until I was pressed against him.

"You're lucky you look so fucking cute in that skirt," he growled.

I felt dizzy again already, drowning in the way his bed smelled like him.

"Mmm, I wore it just for you," I admitted, rubbing myself gently against his crotch now pressing into my bottom.

"Smart girl," he responded.

It felt like I was in a dream, to be there with him like that. For a long time, I'd thought I'd never see him again, let alone be laying on his bed.

I could hear him stripping behind me, and I peeked over my shoulder with a modest smile.

Time was not moving fast enough, I thought, but it was also moving too fast. Because as badly as I wanted him to ravish me, I was afraid what would happen when it was over.

I couldn't think about that in that moment, though.

Once he reached into his nightstand, I giggled with anticipation. He raised his eyebrows at me, unable to contain his own laughter.

"Oh, you're happy with yourself, huh?"

"A little bit, yeah."

When he returned to me, his hands were still gentle as they pushed my skirt back up where it had fallen. He revealed my body to himself, and I didn't have to be able to see it to know that my arousal spread down my inner thighs. I had, after all, already had two orgasms before now thanks to the man behind me.

"I'm also pretty happy with you," he whispered as he leaned over me.

With no warning, he fully entered me with one swift thrust. I whimpered at the feeling of him hitting against angered skin, mixed with the pleasure of being full once again. I clutched at the sheets and wished that they were him, wishing that I could somehow be even closer to him than I already was. 

"We'll see if you still feel like smiling after I'm done with you."

It was the last thing he said before he began to ruthlessly pound into me. I struggled to scream as loudly as I wanted to, but I couldn't make any noise at all. My body seemed to have relented all control to him within seconds; I didn't put up a single battle. Although his grasp held me in place, I still attempted to cant my hips forward to allow him better access.

My chest and face were warm with friction from rubbing against the bed, and my knuckles were blanched from the force exerted to try and remain grounded. Each movement seemed so purposeful, much like the way he thrashed at my skin with his hand.

"Fuck me," were the first words I managed to string together.

With one forceful thrust, he held me down on him as all the moans I couldn't make previously came pouring out of me. I thought I might actually cry from how overstimulated the day was  becoming. Seemingly reading my mind, Spencer pulled out of me entirely. I tried to reorient myself, but he stopped me. Using one hand to grab hold of my arm, he flipped me onto my back beneath him.

I hadn't even realized I was still wearing basically all of my clothes until he had to force my skirt back up again. Missing him between my legs, I began to crave him everywhere else, too. I struggled to pull my shirt over my head.

Spencer didn't stop me, just watching while he playfully rubbed his arousal at my entrance.

"Please, sir," I pleaded once I was finally able to lift my legs. I wrapped them around his hips and pulled him closer to me without letting him slip into me just yet.

"Just as impatient and needy as ever, (y/n)."

I chewed on my bottom lip, looking up at him with the puppy dog eyes that had always worked on him up to that point. It must have worked again, because he was sinking back into me before I knew it. My arms spread out across the bed, holding onto whatever I could reach as he set another brutal pace.

Our bodies melding together in a chaotic fusion of skin and fluids, I let myself get lost in the bliss of Spencer Reid laying claim to my body. I threw my head back, my eyes clamped shut as one of his hands came up to caress one of my breasts through my lacy bra.

"With undergarments like this, I have to wonder if you planned this all, young lady," he teased, no doubt referring to the matching underwear now discarded on the floor.

I opened my eyes to meet his, and for a second I was left breathless at the sight of him pumping into me. How I managed to say anything at all is a miracle.

"Never a plan, sir. But always a pleasure."

A flirtatious sparkle in his eyes, he slowed down as he pressed, "Did you wear them for someone else, then?"

The way I arched my back caused him to push even further into me, and I had to pause to moan before I continued.

"Are you jealous?"

His hips snapped forward, producing a simultaneously jolt of pain and pleasure. His voice was breathy as he tried to hold himself together while speaking, "Should I be?"

Our eye contact caused tension so powerful that I was certain it was palpable. A devilish grin and a bit of a snicker was the provocation he needed to drive into me harder once again. I didn't even try to suppress the noises he elicited from me, tightening my grip around him with my legs.

"Take me," I whispered under my breath, almost hoping that he wouldn't hear me.

I couldn't tell if he did, but his hand switched sides of my chest, and our faces grew closer together.

"I'm yours," I slurred. I truthfully hadn't thought about the words when I gifted them to him, but he clearly took note of them. That time, it was his moan that filled the air in the room, and I had never felt so excited by one of his responses. I chased after the feeling, locking eyes with him as both his hands grabbed my hips to begin the race to the finish.

"I'm yours, Spencer."

I didn't stop to wonder if I could play this off as part of the fantasy. I mean, it was part of my fantasy; the fantasy of being his, and him being mine.

He didn't object to my words then, either, and he had definitely heard me that time.

I smiled, barely noticing that he'd placed his fingers back on my heat, swiping frantically at my clit until I lost all composure underneath him. My hips rocked at no apparent rhythm, and distorted versions of his name broke through my mouth.

I hadn't even come down yet when he rammed into me with full force, bottoming out once again. I felt his cock twitch inside of me, followed by my muscles pulling everything out of him that they could.

The view of his satisfied face through my lust-filled daze was angelic. It appeared that he saw the same in me, but I couldn't be sure. Just as quickly as the moment had come, it had passed, his arms giving in to his weight as he collapsed onto my chest.

His hair tickled my collarbones, and I laughed at how incredibly out of shape he was. Especially for an FBI Agent. Even if he did go on the field often, I figured the resident dork didn't need to be totally ripped, anyway.

And, hey, he was strong enough to treat me like a ragdoll, so who was I to judge?

"Tired?" I asked, taking a shaky hand to his head, playing with the soft brown curls damp from sweat.

"You aren't?" he slurred, his words smothered against my skin.

"I am fucking exhausted."

That time, we both laughed. He was clearly pleased that, despite any perceived weakness, he was still able to thoroughly wear me out. When he moved to leave me, I dropped my legs. I was surprised I had managed to hold them until then, honestly.

He fixed his hair that had fallen in his eyes first, and I smiled at the peculiar priority. It was cute, though.

"Do you have to take me home?"

I tried not to let the disappointment bleed into my voice, but it did. He tried not to notice. He didn't answer as he cleaned himself up, and I sat up to look at him — once the world stopped spinning, anyway.

"No."

The butterflies spiraled out of control, spreading through every inch of my soul. I must have been beaming, because he looked so very nervous.

"Thanks."

His response came in the form of an unsure smile, followed by a genuine appreciation.

I briefly wondered if he realized just how transparent he was, but then decided I didn't want to think about it. I excused myself to clean up before bed, taking a long moment to rub my skin with aloe from under the cabinet, only to realize that I had basically nothing clean to wear. I rolled my eyes at the situation, wondering how many red flags it would set off for me to ask Spencer for some of his clothes.

I could just be naked. He seemed to like me that way.

I padded back into the room, expecting him to be waiting up for me. He wasn't. Spencer had passed out on the bed before he even had a chance to get under the covers. I stood at the door for a moment, trying to appreciate the value of this quiet moment while I still could.

Stripping off my clothes as quiet as possible, I was careful not to wake him. However, that also meant I couldn't climb under the covers, either.

It isn't exactly snooping if I'm looking for something innocent, right? That's what I had to tell myself, regardless. Because I was not going to freeze my ass off over a hookup's paranoia. Glancing at the dresser, I almost convinced myself it wouldn't be an invasion of privacy to open it. Luckily, I didn't have to. Directly next to it was a hamper of clean, folded laundry, with a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt on top. While disappointed that I had lost my excuse, I was grateful I had stripped myself of the choice.

He deserved better than me trying to pry into his life like that.

Slipping into his clothes, I stopped to hug myself in the soft fabric. With him asleep, I felt comfortable taking a moment to revel in the position he'd allowed me to exist in. I was in his apartment, in his clothes, and I would soon be back in his arms.

For now.

I chased the inevitable end out of my thoughts, slinking onto the bed and shimmying over to him until his hands found me in his unconscious state. I faced him, my hands pressing softly against his chest to feel his heart happily working under my touch.

His eyes fluttered open for a second, just long enough to see the wonder in my own. A smile crept along his cheeks, and he wrapped a lazy arm around my waist.

I wondered if he recognized his own clothes, or if he even realized this was real. Then again, the alternative was him assuming that it'd all been a dream... and it was a pleasant one, it seemed. 

"I'm happy," he confirmed in a hushed tone.

My heart almost stopped, and I peeked up at him, inching up so I could better see his face. His breathing evened back out as I felt the way he relaxed, quickly retreating back to the comfortable embrace of sleep.

"About what?" I whispered back.

Our legs twined together, and a soft sigh left his lips. I waited with bated breath  for his response, although I don't think I could have ever been prepared for what followed.

"I'm happy that you're mine."

... What?

 —————————————————

| Part 5 |

[villainousshakespeare]

Putting it Back Together Chapter 4

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story, blood, slow burn, touch starved

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere

This had not been part of his plan, Adam thought as he switched on a lamp and cringed at the disaster that was his livingroom. Instruments and musical equipment were strewn all over the place, wires and amps just waiting to trip the unwary or uncoordinated. Which, by everything he had observed so far, definitely included his companion.

"Sorry for the mess," he mumbled, clearing a path to the sofa with his foot.

"Don't be," Lilly smiled, looking around with avid interest. "It's exactly how I envisioned it!"

"Great," Adam rolled his eyes.

"Not that I've been envisioning it," she blurted out, face turning scarlet. "I just meant... well, if I thought about it at all, which I only did because I could hear you so clearly over here... and what with all the clattering around..."

"You expected it to be a wreck," he finished for her as he swept a collection of books off of the ancient sofa and onto the floor.

"It's cozy," she said lamely.

"If you say so. Sorry I don't have anything to offer you except water to drink. I don't entertain. Ever."

"Water would be perfect," she smiled encouragingly at him, as though he were a toddler displaying acceptable manners in company.

Which, he supposed, was about right. Fuck, he wasn't even sure if the water here was potable. He had never drank any of it, of course. He only used the kitchen sink to wash the cordial glasses from which he drank his blood. Fetching a slightly larger cup that he had found in the cupboard when he moved in and giving it a quick clean, Adam let the water run for a few minutes to help clear out the pipes. It didn't look too contaminated; he hoped he was not about to poison her.

"Here," he walked back to the livingroom and thrust the glass into her hand. "No ice, freezer doesn't work."

"I'd say you should call the super, but I guess that doesn't work if you're the owner."

"It doesn't really bother me," he replied with a shrug. "I'll fix it myself eventually."

"After all, you don't have guests," she said impishly.

"Right."

"Perfectly drinkable," she judged after taking a sip from the cup.

"Good. Now, let me see if I can find that tape player."

That was what she was doing here, after all. Why his invitation had popped out he could not fathom, much less how he had ended up bringing her back here that very night. At least this way he could limit the time he spent with her, he supposed. It was already two in the morning; not long until the sun began to approach the horizon and he would be forced to show her the door whether he wanted to or not.

Glancing over to where she lounged on his sofa, he was not so sure what the decision would be on that one. Her legs, stretched out on the cushion, were quite shapely despite her petite stature, and the red top just invited one to run their hands over it to feel the silky material and the lush curves underneath. And then, of course, there was her neck, long and white and begging to be bitten.

Adam swallowed and turned away. He  could not help but think of the last time he had had a mortal in his home, though it had not been this one. Ian, his supplier of instruments and all around procurer had been almost a friend, if a zombie could ever be thought so. He was sweet and harmless, and Adam had a genuine affection for him in a distant sort of way. It had been a horrid shock to walk into the room one night after sun set and see the young man sitting lifeless on the couch, blood drained from his body and drying on the face of Ava, Eve's feral sister.

Adam had always hated Ava, and that night had been the last straw. It was also the beginning of the end to life as he knew it. Within hours he had tossed her out on her skinny ass, disposed of poor Ian's body, and was on a flight with Eve to Tangier, where she was destined to drink tainted blood and die. All because Ava had sucked Ian dry. All the more reason to hate his late wife's bitch of a sister.

Still, looking at Lilly stretching herself out, he could understand a little better how Ian had come to die. Ava had whined to them about how cute he had been, how she couldn't resist. At the time he had scorned such a thing as a pathetic lack of self control. He still did to a large extent, but at last he knew the urge. Not just the urge to feed, an impulse they all shared, but an urge to take a human in such an intimate embrace. When Eve was alive it would never have occurred to him, he had had her for such connections, he needed no one else. Now though, alone and untouched for years, he longed to feel Lilly's smooth skin against his mouth, to hear her gasp and sigh as he ran his lips over her neck.

Not that he would ever drain her, of course. He was not such a monster. He would not even drink from her. To do so would expose his true nature, and that would mean relocating again, as well as putting her life in danger.

No, he would do her this one favor, and then he would return to seclusion. He would make sure that he left through the basement when absolutely necessary so that she did not hear him, would otherwise stay inside so that their paths would cease to cross. It would be better for them both.

"Here it is," he mumbled with satisfaction. "Give me a moment to set it up."

"Take your time," she said happily.

Glancing over, Adam saw that she had given up lounging and was now coiling up all of guitar cables into neat rounds. He had to admit that she did a good job - they were neither too tight so as to damage the wires nor too loose so as to unravel as soon as she walked away. With a shrug of his shoulders he allowed her to continue. The cables could use sorting, and he was certainly not inclined to the task.

"Sorry," she said with a blush as she caught him staring. "I warned you, I fidget. I seem to always need something to do with my hands."

He could think of several things she could do to keep her hands busy, he thought. God, what was wrong with him? Was he really so touch starved?

"Where's the tape?" he finally asked

She leapt up from where she had been sitting, breasts bouncing as she did, and almost reverently handed him the box containing her Grandmother's recordings. Adam turned back around, discreetly adjusting himself as he did. He carefully placed the spool in his machine, grateful for something to occupy him until he got himself under control.

After a short series of clicks and static while the tape began to unreel, a scratchy blare of a trumpet began to waft through the air, soon joined by a piano and soft brushes on drums. Adam was taken back to a different era. A time when he had circulated more among the general population of humans. Women wore dresses and hats, men suits and ties, and a sophisticated style permeated the music scene. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed that era, the end of the 40s and beginning of the 50s. Between his excitement at the recent technological advances and his nostalgia for the old days of the height of classical composition, Adam sometimes forgot the joy and sorrow, the feeling that jazz could evoke.

When the voice, low, smooth, and heavy with emotion, slid in like honey, he looked instinctively to Lilly. Her mouth was open, shaped with a hint of smile at the corners. Her eyes blinked quickly, struggling he was sure to hold back tears. This would be the first time, he supposed, that he had heard her Grandmother sing since she had died. Even without the connection to the woman, Adam himself was moved by the song. He was struck by how strong Lilly was being, listening and holding back her tears.

Moving one step towards her, Adam opened his arms. With a catch of indrawn breath Lilly took two steps of her own and for the second time buried her face against his chest. It was so different thought, he thought as his arms came around her. That first night on the roof, she had been some annoying zombie woman, pushing herself in where she was not wanted. Her blubbering all over him had been almost violent in the way she sobbed and clutched at him. Now, she simply melted against him, and he gently stroked her back as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

The song ended and another began, this one he remembered. It had been a huge hit, still was sung every so often, covered by lesser vocalists. Lilly's Grandmother was not one of those. She was a true artist.

"There's a somebody I'm longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be Someone to watch over me..."

As the music continued, Adam found himself swaying to it, bringing Lilly along with him. She was stiff at first in his arms when he began to dance with her, but when she realized what he was doing she relaxed and allowed herself to feel the rhythm. She would never be a natural dancer, and she was clearly still in her head, but there was something sweet about that. She tried so hard at everything. Tried to be strong, tried to keep busy, tried to learn, tried to be happy.

When was the last time he had been happy, Adam wondered. When was the last time he had even tried? Not since Eve, certainly. Before that, he was unsure. There were moments, of course, even at the end with her when he had been so. He loved her with an enduring passion. But he had been going through the motions for decades, shutting himself off from the world around him. Ian had been practically his only connection to it.

Pulling back a bit, he spun Lilly about and half smiled at her. It felt strange to smile even that much. Muscles he had not used in forever only half remembered how to work. He had always had a brooding nature, but of late it had become harsh even for him.

They kept dancing until the tape ended, adjusting to the tempo and style of each song. It felt so good to lose himself in someone else's music for a change. To hold someone, to connect with someone. She was right, what she had said earlier that night. Music required no discussion, no messy dialogue. You could just feel it, let it move through you. And where there was someone else there, someone who even if not a musician herself clearly had an ear and more to the point a soul for it, to share it with it could be a profound experience.

When at last the song ended, Adam and Lilly's eyes met and something deeper than a smile passed between them. It was sad and joyful and required no words. They both collapsed on the sofa, Adam pulling her into the crook of his arm as he sat sprawled and tired. Lilly's legs were curled under her and she rested her head against his chest. He could feel the rise and fall of breathing, fast at first from the exertion of dancing, begin to slow. It was some time later that he realized she had fallen asleep on him.

How strange, he thought, that she should be so comfortable with him that she could so easily drift off. He had perfected the art of scaring people off, and yet this tiny woman had tenaciously refused to be run off. She seemed to trust him, even, had shared something deeply personal with him.

The sun would be up soon. He should wake her, he knew. Yet, looking at how peaceful she looked he could not bring himself to do so. Gently, Adam slid out from beneath her, lowering her head down onto a convenient throw pillow. He foraged about until he found a blanket on an armchair and draped it over her, tucking her in. Lilly sighed and burrowed deeper into the sofa, a light sigh escaping her lips.

Taking one last look, he made sure the curtains were drawn, turned off the light, and headed to his bedroom. Things would go back to normal tomorrow; they had too. But let them both sleep peacefully today.

***

Lilly scrunched her eyes and stretched a bit, trying to wriggle away from a hard lump she could feel under her left side. What had she left on her bed that was poking into her with such insistency. Feeling under her blindly, she pulled out something long and wooden. A drumstick? How on earth had that ended up in her bed? And why did the mattress feel like velvet?

As she emerged from the fog of sleep, Lilly came to the sudden realization that she was not, in fact, in her own bed.

Sitting up, she felt a smile cross her face that was lit from within. Last night had been a good night. She had reconnected with some old friends, and maybe even made a new one. Twenty-four hours ago Lilly would have thought the possibility of a friendship with Adam a fantasy at best, delusion more likely. And yet he had approached her, he had accepted her invitation to the club, and he had issued an invitation of his own that led her back to his apartment.

Oh, not that Lilly was crazy enough to think that he meant anything more by it than friendship. She was not the type of woman that brooding musicians stayed up composing love songs for. She was the type who hounded them with her insistent chirping until they finally relented and occasionally allowed them inside, like the mangy cat you gave milk to once who would forever after haunted your door. She was fine with that, she told herself. He had been a friend when she needed one, lending her an arm to dance with and a shoulder to lean on when she needed it most.

He had also, it seemed from the blanket draped around her, tucked her in. Her grin widened. Despite how hard he tried to cultivate his grumpy persona, Adam had could not hide the sweet kindness in his nature from her any longer. She had felt it as he had held her last night, and later when they danced.

That had been something she would not soon forget. Lilly was too tense as a rule to be graceful, but Adam was such a strong leader that she had stopped worrying about his poor toes and let herself simply enjoy. His body had been a continuation of the music, feeling it to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his hair it seemed. All loose and yet firm where his hand lay on her back, he had guided her flawlessly, swaying to the sound.

All in all, it had been a far better send off for her grandmother than the stuffy funeral planned by her father. The old woman would have enjoyed last night, Lilly knew, and she would have enjoyed Adam. Beyond the shared love of music, his sharp tongue and kind heart would have been just to her liking.

Not wanting to send her mind down fruitless paths, Lilly stood up to get a better look at the room. It really was exactly how she had imagined it, if not more so. Every flat surface from the floor to the mismatched furniture was covered in instruments, sound equipment, mechanisms for which she had no names, and the odd notebook or staff paper. Three of the walls were covered in sound proofing foam, the third in an odd collection of portraits. Looking at them, Lilly found scientists, authors, artists, philosophers, all sorts of creative and intellectual types. She made a game of naming them all, only coming up blank on two (although three more were guesses), and trying to decipher meaning from who was present and who absent. Somewhere in there, she was sure, was the secret to his mind's inner working.

Part way through her perusal, Lilly realized that nature was calling. Assuming the layout to his home was similar to hers, she made her way as quietly as she could up the creaky staircase. Once at the top, she was greeted with a long hallway, three doors on each side.

The first door she tried opened into a room dominated by a large drum kit. Scattered about around it were a music store's worth of other percussive instruments. Some day, she thought, she would like to come back and play in here, to see if she could bang out some of her inner frustration. It must be as good as therapy in some ways!

As she opened the second door an avalanche of what she thought were rugs or tapestries of some sort threatened to come spilling out and bury her. She quickly leaned all of her weight against it to close it shut again, hoping she hadn't disturbed anything expensive and moved on to the third door.

Lilly forgot how to breath as she opened it. There, spread out on a large bed covered in pillows, lay Adam, completely naked.

Lilly knew she needed to quickly exit, closing the door behind her, but she could not seem to make her limbs obey her. If Michelangelo had wanted a model for his David, he could have used him, she thought. Adam lay on his stomach, face buried in a pillow. While this luckily or unfortunately (she could not decide) preserved some of his modesty, there was still quite a bit on display to appreciate.

Broad, well muscled shoulders and back gleamed pale, contrasting against the dark of his hair where it fell. His waist segued gorgeously into a pair of slender hips and - dear lord, there should be a law! - a perfectly firm and round ass that Lilly would have given her right hand to squeeze. Long, lean legs seemed to go on for days, and actually fell off the bed before reaching his gigantic feet. A mischievous part of Lilly felt the urge to reach out and tickle them, and she actively clasped her hands behind her back to keep from acting on this awful impulse.

Had she really tried to convince herself, just moments before, that she was perfectly happy to just be his friend? If so, she had been deluding herself. Oh, she would take what she could get, but Lilly knew in that moment that she would go to her grave ruined for anyone else.

As she stood staring unabashedly at him, Adam mumbled something incomprehensible into the pillow. Lilly started to make for the door, but his head turned towards her and she realized he was still asleep. Cautiously, she lingered a moment longer, watching as he reached out to the other side of the bed, as though searching for something not there.

"Eve," he said, clearly this time. "Baby, I miss you."

Someone had reached into Lilly's chest and crushed her heart between their fist.

She had no idea why it had never occurred to her that he might have a lover, or even a wife. He was beyond gorgeous, brilliantly talented, and obviously had money. Anyone would want him. Why should she assume that just because there was no woman here at this moment he was single?

And yet, clearly, she had. The raw emotion in his voice, the need as he called the woman's name had been all it took to destroy her heart.

Following the direction he was facing, Lilly realized that in this room of dirty laundry and bedding, one picture stood out like a beacon. Placed on the table next to the bed where it could clearly be seen was a photo of Adam and a woman of ethereal beauty. She was not "pretty" in a conventional way, but had something far beyond that. Almost as tall as he was, and perhaps even paler, she was stunning in a cream colored suite with yellow gold hair. Adam had his arms twined around her center, and looked at her with such love in his eyes that it was unmistakable.

Forgetting her need for the bathroom, Lilly bolted out of the room and down the stairs. She needed to get out of here. Away from the perfect man who she was afraid she had already fallen for and the perfect woman who was clearly everything Lilly was not. Including it now became clear, the one that Adam wanted.

[anxiouslyfred]

Painted Diving Gear

Summary: Remus is a diver and teaches it to tourists so of course occasionally some of the gear gets lost. That why his soulmate, genius that they must be, has learnt how to return the gear, designs painted onto the edge to claim it before losing them once more.

/\/\

The was a familiar oxygen tank sat in the middle of Remus's flat that morning.

Honestly it wouldn't be anything worth commenting on usually, except this particular tank had been lost a month prior, left behind on a hired van by accident. The company had claimed they couldn't locate it to return the item and from the painting on its edge that made a lot more sense now.

His soulmate must have received the gas tank at some point between him realising it was missing and contacting the company. Remus had been ecstatic the first time something he lost turned up back in his flat, just with a painting added onto the edge. It seemed the artwork was enough to swap ownership between them so far as whatever the magic moving objects between soulmates was concerned.

He didn't have much time to delay though, only just having gotten up in time to head to work. The tank was easily thrown into his trunk to take in with him and some ready roll icing was grabbed to eat as breakfast on the way in. Remus might not care for having breakfast but knew better than to dive with no energy, especially in the middle of the summer vacation period.

The Diving company was already open when he arrived, another of the team having opened up and started taking bookings for the day. The oxygen tank got a raised eyebrow when Remus brought it in.

“That soulmate of yours probably gets worried sick every time you loose one of those.” Janus offered but waved to the edge of the room.

They'd made something of a display of the equipment since it started coming back. Neither of them were sure what type of paint was used on the equipment or whether it was safe to be used in the oceans or not so erred on the side of caution. The last thing Remus wanted to do was accidentally harm the creatures and corals he dived down to see and show to tourists in small groups so unfortunately the scuba gear that got painted on and returned was just left to one side for the moment.

So far they had 4 oxygen tanks, various scuba masks and a few pairs of flippers all painted by whomever Remus's soulmate might be. The designs had started off as somewhat plain, simple swirls and patterns done over the front of them. Gradually, with each item returned the images grew more complex, from featuring ocean life, to spiders, until today's intricate design. The was an octopus wrapped around a pile of knives, most of which Remus could recognise as ones he'd lost throughout his life. It was almost as though his soulmate was attempting to paint an image of who they thought he was, and that idea thrilled him.

All Remus could tell about his soulmate was that they were a freaking genius who figured out how to return lost items when nobody was known to have managed that ever before.

“Nah, they don't. They wouldn't try returning to someone they think could have died losing an item.” Remus brushed the comment away, making sure the latest one was stood clear to see for any customers that walked in.

Janus was finally able to properly see the painting now it was down, smirking at the image. “And it seems like they even have a collection of knives to challenge your own. Must be a perfect match.”

“Once again wrong. That's my collection of knives. They just get to look after it for a while and it's even better than some of those rusting at the bottom of the ocean too.” Remus corrected, snatching their bookings diary from the counter to check if they'd be taking walk in customers today or if something particular needed setting up on the boat.

“Of course you lose more knives than you manage to keep, how could I be so misguided?” The sarcasm rolled thickly through the reply. “Does that mean they presume you are an octopus rather than a human then?”

Remus cackled, thrilled at the suggestion. “I wish I was. Those lovely babies are so brilliant, shame today's a boring day so I probably won't get to see any.”

“You never know, the next walk in could be an avid diver needing to rent equipment and get shown the most interesting places to dive.” Janus suggested, a wobble of his head betraying how outlandish he thought the idea was.

Remus just snickered, heading through to where the boat was moored so he could check everything was prepped for use.

The walk-in customer they did have unfortunately wasn't an avid diver when Janus called him back through to the shop, but a tourist hoping to learn something about diving because of something to do with their soulmate. The reason had come out in a mumble just as Remus got through so he didn't quite catch it.

“I can do that. There's some shallows in a quiet cove just around the coast I can teach you in. Come through and I'll get you set up with the gear in your size before we head out.” Remus had already walked through into the other room, expecting the man to finish staring at their displays and follow.

A few minutes later he was still alone and Janus poked his head through the door. “Your display of returned items seems to have broken our customer. Come and fix it!” With the order given he'd returned back to the counter.

Once Remus was back in the front of the shop the man was still gaping at the items, reaching out to follow the lines of the knives on the one brought in today. “Yeah, that's some pretty awesome artwork. My soulmate does it so they can return them to me, but since I don't know what paint was used we've been avoiding using them where possible.” He commented, resting his head on top of the customers trying to get their attention.

“I'd be a fucking idiot if I figured out how to return them and didn't also do research on what paints are used on diving equipment, or can remain in tact under the pressure and salt water of the ocean.” Came a snapped back reply. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that the first time I try to learn something about my soulmate I end up in your freaking shop?”

Remus stepped back just enough the guy could turn around, tilting his head. “Well if you're the one who painted them, I guess I am. Let's get you some permanent gear so I can properly teach you how to dive over the rest of the week, or however long you're in the area.”

“Well if this gets mentioned to the friends that dragged me on this holiday that might just be permanently. What's your name anyway, or should I just call you Knifapus?” The man asked, looking Remus up and down.

There was a snicker from the counter but Remus ignored it, shimmying a little. “You can call me anything you like, Spidat, but my name is Remus.” A number of the items his soulmate had actually lost had spiders and bats on them and most were dark despite the fluffy nature a lot of them shared; the nickname had come from a year where any words Remus could combine would be mixed.

“Let's stick with Virgil or something that uses real words, shall we? Are you serious about getting me permanent diving gear, cause I don't think I can afford that?” Virgil corrected, glancing over at one of the displays of the gear they had for sale.

“Soulmate privileges.” Janus called over. “It can come out of the company funds, but only if you actually are going to use it for more than a couple of days.”

There had never been a policy like that in the company before and Janus had actually insisted to his soulmate he couldn't give them a discount for the gear just to enable them dragging him out on the sea. Remus wasn't going to argue though. Diving had always been a way for him to share his darker thoughts without people giving him concerned looks, but it had been Janus's escape to isolate and calm down for years.

“And here, I was just hoping one of those soulmate privileges would be getting to use the equipment I so painstakingly returned.” Virgil's whine was exaggerated, but the twist of his lips and quirked eyebrows showed how entertained he was by the idea. “Honestly though, I have no clue if I'm going to join you diving much. Isn't it terrifying to get that deep underwater with no way to breathe if the oxygen tank comes loose or something?”

“I taunt death daily and he's yet to do more than wave while clearing up the devastation humanity is sending to the oceans.” Remus insisted, excited to share the experience.

Virgil groaned. “Damnit, am I going to have to play, 'Let's not die today' with you too? It's bad enough with friends running into busy roads because there's a dog on the other side.”

“You're the one that came looking for him, otherwise I'd sympathise.” Janus snickered.

“Let's try a small dive today and see if you could work up to coming on the deeper dives in a few years time.” Remus compromised, still bouncing between his feet and reaching forwards to tug on Virgil's arm.

“That we can do, I guess.”